Dealing with the Devil
by Tabari Avaren
Summary: When Bellatrix Black dragged her younger sister out of their home and into Diagon Alley, Andromeda expected danger and excitement, but not a face to face meeting with Lord Voldemort, or a deadly promise that would bind her to him for one hellish year.
1. A Deal with the Devil

**Dealing with the Devil**

**Author's Notes:** Some of you may remember this story as a one-shot over from I've decided to continue the fic, however. For quite some time, I thought that I'd be content to leave it as a one-shot, but I recently took a look at two chapters I'd begun but never finished shortly after posting what was at the time the entirety of this fanfiction.

This fic will be nine chapters long, each chapter told from the point of view of a different Black sister, though not necessarily in any particular order. Each sister will have three chapters, however; I have, along with this edited version of the original fic that started all of this, also posted a chapter from Narcissa and Bellatrix's points of view respectively.

What is now the first chapter has only been lightly edited for inconsistencies since its initial appearance on fictionalley and fanfiction . net.

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**A Deal with the Devil - Andromeda**

"My daughters!" Ariadne Black cried out, opening her arms to embrace first Bellatrix, then Andromeda, then Narcissa. Bellatrix, ever imperious, and Andromeda, ever mindful of her Gryffindor pride, lingered only moments in their mother's arms. But Narcissa, just thirteen and more child than adolescent, hugged her mother hard.

Platform Nine and Three Quarters was full of bustling people, but unlike previous years, few of those people were stopping for gossip and chatter, and family reunions were hurried before the witches and wizards exited the platform into King's Cross station, anxious to get home in the darkening evening. There was no denying the tensions in the Wizarding world this year; too many muggleborns had been murdered, and rumors of a new power for darkness, a wizard to rival Grindelwald, had surfaced even in the _Daily Prophet_, bastion of skepticism and denial.

Not that the Blacks had any reason to fear for their safety. The oldest Wizarding family in Britain, rivaled only by the Malfoys and the (blood-traitor) Weasleys, none would dare to offend them.

Still, Ariadne Black did not want to linger. She and her eldest daughter, Bellatrix – the only one legally allowed to use her wand outside of school – levitated the girls' trunks towards the floo network fireplaces, and each girl, with a pinch of green powder, found herself whizzing away home.

The Black family had two sons, and after old Ulysses Black had died, it had been Aquila, and his wife (and cousin) Cassiopeia, who had inherited the Black Manor. He was, after all, the oldest son, born four years before Orion – and he had produced male heirs to continue the family name, rather than daughters. It had never sat well with Ariadne, though, and as she surveyed the less than grand parlor of Orion Black's home. She sniffed, as was customary, and then, with a flick of her wand, sent the trunks flying up the stairs.

"Well! It's good to be home, isn't it, girls? You'll have to tell me about your year later, though. There's to be dinner at the Black Manor tonight, and there's only the half hour to get ready. Bellatrix, the black dress robe – Rodolphus will be there, or so Aunt Cassiopeia told me; Andromeda, anything that isn't red and gold – don't be so perverse, dear; Narcissa, there's a lovely blue dress upstairs for you, and a pink robe to go over it."

Ariadne Black, with the air of someone accustomed to having her orders followed, walked off to the master bedroom, humming tunelessly under her breath.

Bellatrix waited until Narcissa had run up the stairs to her own room before grabbing Andromeda's arm with her clawlike fingers.

"Come on," the older girl hissed. "My room. And be quiet about it if you can manage."

Andromeda complied, more out of habit than actual desire to spend time in her sister's presence, and was half dragged up two flights of stairs to the loft that Bellatrix had claimed as her own.

Pristine after months of abandonment, Bellatrix strode over to the windows of her room and closed the shutters with a bang. She then snapped the door shut behind Andromeda, and, with a dangerous smile playing about her face, leaned back against the wall.

"Dear sister, I think it's time we had some … bonding. What with you in Gryffindor and all, I've hardly gotten to know my little sister! And to think, I won't even be at Hogwarts anymore – such a pity, such a pity. You see, I do so long to be friends with you." The last came out as a purr, the dark-haired girl's smoky sinking even lower.

"Bellatrix, now is not the time," Andromeda said, backing away, only stopping when she felt the door behind her. The younger Black was wary, her gray eyes never leaving her smiling sister.

"Now is the perfect time, Andromeda. You see, I really don't plan to spend much more time here," she said, her voice dripping with disgust, "now that I've left school. Much better things to do, really. I've only got so long to, ah, make an impression."

Andromeda sometimes thought her sister could smell fear. Bellatrix's nostrils were flaring, and her eyes were wild, not quite matching that beautiful smile. Stalling for time, Andromeda asked, "What about Narcissa? You'll see even less of her."

Bellatrix laughed. "Narcissa's the good girl, I don't need to worry about her. Already making eyes at the Malfoy spawn; even looks like one of them. She's Slytherin too. But you, Andromeda, show promise – you have enough rebel in you to be sorted into Gryffindor, and to even wear red and gold home!"

"Mother won't want us not to go to the dinner tonight. We have to – and you heard her, Rodolphus Lestrange will be there. I don't see how you can accuse Narcissa of making eyes –"

Bellatrix cut her younger sister off. "Mother will be most glad if I can show you the error of your ways. In any case, do you honestly want to spend all evening surrounded by your family? Your Slytherin family, not a one of them a blood-traitor like you, Great-Aunt Elladora sniping at you all night, Mother and Aunt Cassiopeia fighting over your upbringing? I know you better than that. Go get changed. Bring your cloak; we're flying."

And with that, Bellatrix opened the door and shoved Andromeda through it. "I'm going to regret this," Andromeda muttered.

Andromeda found herself back in Bellatrix's room, her travelling cloak over a plain robe. Bellatrix, however, looked like a queen. Andromeda couldn't help herself; at the sight of her tall, dark, radiant sister, in midnight blue robes and a black velvet cloak, she had to gasp.

"I'm glad you like it," Bellatrix purred, before muttering a silencing charm under her breath, a ripple of air whizzing towards the door. "Dearest mother shouldn't hear us go. You can fly, right? That mudblood friend of yours, Tinky, or whatever –"

"Tonks," Andromeda said shortly, not bothering to correct her use of mudblood, not after all those years. "I can fly, Bellatrix. My broom, however, is currently in the parlor, along with dearest mother. How are you planning -?"

Bellatrix opened a trunk at the foot of her bed, and pulled out a long, elegant broomstick, of a model Andromeda didn't recognize.

"How the hell did you -?" she started to ask, but her sister cut her off.

"Friend of mine. You might meet him tonight, if you're lucky. Get on, and hold on. I'm going to try to get cloud cover. It's a long way to the Leaky Cauldron."

Despite the day's previous night, the air was cold, and flying in cloud soaked Andromeda to the bone. Bellatrix was a daredevil flier, too – Bellatrix was daredevil at everything – and Andromeda was thoroughly miserable when they landed (in a side alley, at Andromeda's desperate urgings to avoid scaring the muggles). Bellatrix, of course, was still queenly, and it was with a self-satisfied smirk that she dried off her own robes, then Andromeda's, before hiding the broom with a disillusionment charm, placing it behind a dumpster.

"Come on," she said, and Andromeda found herself following big sister.

The muggle nightlife had been busy and varied on the streets outside of the run down old pub, but the Leaky Cauldron was simply wild. Andromeda had only ever gone to Diagon Alley during the day, usually with one or more parents, to shop for school things or other household needs. She had never seen this part of the wizarding world by night, and the atmosphere was intimidating.

Men in their long robes were laughing raucously at the bar, great tankards of ale in front of them. Women, some of whom looked to be of dubious reputation, sauntered through the bar, some of them twined around male customers. Andromeda thought she spotted a hag, talking in rapid Albanian to a cloaked wizard. A goblin was hunkered over a table, counting gold coins, while a thickset wizard drummed his fingers in impatience.

Bellatrix did not look at all phased, and she didn't linger long in the pub. Though Andromeda wanted to remain behind, to take in the scene, her sister dragged her forward, and counted the bricks that led into Diagon Alley.

Diagon Alley, too, was a different creature at night. The patrons had changed – no longer were the dithering old witches in from the country pottering about. Rather, it seemed as if the crowd from Knockturn Alley had come well into the main shops, and in the flickering torchlight, Andromeda thought she could make out a few familiar faces – graduated Slytherins from her sister's circle of friends; shopkeepers from Knockturn Alley her father had had round for dinner once; and aurors – not just regular Law Enforcement, but _aurors_. Andromeda even knew one of them, from when the Ministry had raided Black Manor. Aunt Cassiopeia had tried to send a curse after him, before Uncle Aquila had vanished the spell.

Bellatrix still did not seem in the mood to linger. She strode purposefully past Flourish and Blott's, past Madam Malkin's, until they were in the plaza before Gringott's Bank, where Knockturn Alley intersected the main road.

"Bellatrix, where –"

"Keep quiet. There's going to be – well. There's going to be some excitement here, let's just say. I know some of the people – keep near me and no one will hurt a hair on your little Gryffindor prefect's head."

They waited. Andromeda was fascinated – the crowd was becoming increasingly more rowdy, and the aurors in the crowd were becoming increasingly tense, their hands never leaving their wands. An argument started outside of Florean Fortescue's, and one of the participants was hit by a nasty engorgement charm. The offender was lead away by one of the harried aurors, but there were plenty more of the troublemaking sort to take his place.

This couldn't be normal, Andromeda thought. "Bellatrix, what's going on? Why are there all these aurors about? And all these people – this can't be what happens all the time, can it?"

"Very good, little sister. The Ministry must have caught word – ah, there he is!"

She was looking towards a wizard in a black cloak, the hood pulled over his face. He nodded, once, at Bellatrix. She grinned savagely. "Stay put. The excitement is just about to begin." And with that, the beautiful young witch, her cloak flaring about her, leapt upon the steps leading into Gringott's bank. Andromeda thought she could hear a spell, and then Bellatrix's voice, magically magnified, boomed out across the square.

"Wizards!" she cried, "Wizards, listen to me! Wizards, awaken! Do you know what we are? What you are? We are the descendents of Merlin and Circe, of Queen Maeve and Agrippa. Look at you! Look at us! Here we stand, the heirs of the greatest men and women to ever walk across this earth, and we are reduced to facsimiles of men, living our mundane lives as if we were mere muggles, ashamed to acknowledge our birthright, cowed into hiding the greatest talents nature can bestow on mankind. What are we? Are we to live our lives in fear of discovery by those ignorant of the glory of wizardkind, or are we to rise up and take what has been withheld from us, to reclaim the grandeur of wizarding history for our own times? Wizards, you are Men, not children. Witches, you are Women, not slaves. We have been kept silent too long, kept silent by the Ministry for Magic! Wizards, it is not the Ministry for Magic, it is the Ministry for Muggles and Mudbloods, and it has denied our heritage for TOO LONG!"

Andromeda heard a great orator in her sister, a brilliance she had not known that Bellatrix possessed, and she could not help admiring her. But she was scared, too. This was dangerous talk, especially with rumors of a new Dark Lord –

Men were gathering round. Some were murmuring, others conversing loudly, others shouting their approval. Aurors had gathered too, their wands out now, glancing for reassurance at each other, their expressions stony and grim. Andromeda felt lost in this crush of humanity, and she tried to make her way forward to Bellatrix. Firebrand though she might be, Bellatrix was her only assurance of safety. She couldn't get through the throng, however, and she found herself shunted to the side by a tall wizard who smelled strongly of ale, who had begun to shout imprecations at the aurors.

The assembly was turning into a fully-fledged riot, and Bellatrix had started it.

Terrified and confused, Andromeda jumped when she felt a hand grab her shoulder. It was the cloaked wizard. Up close, Andromeda could make out more of his features – definitely older than Bellatrix, in his thirties, with a hooked nose and thin lips. "Keep close to me. You're a Black, correct? Bellatrix shouldn't have brought you, you're only a child…"

Andromeda felt indignant. She was only two and a half years younger than her sister, after all! Still, this man had offered protection, and given the bloody mess that was unfolding around her… Andromeda hesitently nodded. "Thanks," she said.

The drunken wizard who had shouted at the Aurors was now right in front, urging Bellatrix to continue. Looking satisfied at her work, Bellatrix engaged in further demagoguery.

"Wizards! Do you hear me? Are you angry? Or is the blood of our ancestors thinning? Have we allowed the pride of mankind, the flower of humanity, to be reduced to this? Where is the power of Paracelsus and Hengist? We have let the purity of our blood become dilute! We have married muggles and filth; become a race of blood traitors! Our children are taught alongside mudbloods, brats raised like pigs by muggles! The pride of our world, its splendor and magnificence, is draining away, to disappear forever if those of us who still remember who we are, what we are, do not stand up and REFUSE to allow our world to be taken away!"

The aurors were encircling her, pushing their way through the crowds. One of them strode purposefully towards Bellatrix, obviously meaning to keep her from inciting the already furious crowd any further, but the drunken heckler intervened. "Blood traitor!" he shouted at the auror, before screaming a curse Andromeda had never heard before. The auror flew backwards, twitching in agony, and his fellows in arms charged forward. Sensing that her work was done, Bellatrix dashed into the crowd as the mob began to systematically destroy Diagon Alley. Hexes and Jinxes flew in every direction as aurors and purebloods dueled. Five wizards had cornered a witch, at whom they were screaming blood epithets; two aurors were desperately trying to prevent a crowd of howling witches and wizards from destroying the Magical Menagerie. Andromeda wanted to cry.

At last, Bellatrix made her way over to her little sister, and the cloaked wizard. The man turned towards Andromeda's older sister, and kissed her on the cheek, muttering, "You were brilliant."

Bellatrix pulled away from his embrace, looking annoyed, but had enough grace to acknowledge his compliment. "Thank you. Do you want to stay, or should we go to the meeting -?"

"We stay. When this is done, we should be able to recruit some of them. Keep out of the way, though. The aurors will be looking for any excuse to arrest you, and when their hands are less full, they'll probably come after us."

"All right, Avery, don't lecture me."

"I told you not to call me by my real name –" he started, obviously angry.

"And I've told you I have no interest in being kissed by you," Bellatrix interrupted smoothly. "I'll probably be a Lestrange in a few years, you know that. _And_ you're married."

He scowled, but said nothing further. They retreated into Knockturn Alley to watch. Once they had found a vantage point, Andromeda turned to her sister. "Bellatrix, I want to go. _Now_. I don't know why you brought me here; you know I'm not like your friends. I'm going."

To her credit, Andromeda did indeed start to leave, but Bellatrix's clawlike hand again grasped her arm, and, reluctant to enter the riot again, Andromeda stopped.

"Don't be an idiot," Bellatrix hissed. "What, you think that crowd'll let you get through there unscathed? And then you're going to fly home? I know you, Andromeda, you'd fall off before you were even a quarter of the way there. And then what? You wait until mother and father come home, and they lock you up for the rest of the summer? Nothing's going to happen to you while you're with me."

"Bellatrix," the man called Avery said, "If she wants to go… maybe she should. She's only a student, a child…"

"Shut it, Avery," Bellatrix said, a dangerous look in her eyes. "My sister, not yours. If it weren't for me, there wouldn't even BE a riot out there, or don't you remember? You could hardly get out there and give that speech, working for the Ministry."

Avery fell silent, and Andromeda said nothing more. Her heart felt as if it were a maracca, not just beating, but shaking up and down. Screams and crashes from Diagon Alley rang through the night, and Andromeda thought she saw one of the Aurors going down, hit by a green jet of light … oh Merlin.

Suddenly, a young witch, vaguely pretty, ran into Knockturn Alley, fear in her doelike eyes. Seeing Bellatrix and the others, she ran towards them. "Please! You have to help me, they're after all the muggleborns! I think they just killed an Auror, and –"

Bellatrix was laughing, withdrawing her wand from inside her cloak, and even the taciturn Avery had a smile on his face now. With a look of horror on her face, the young witch began to back away from them, but it was too late.

"_REDUCTO_!" Bellatrix shrieked, and the young witch was blasted off her feet. A nasty, eager look on her face, Bellatrix ran towards her prostrate victim. Avery, too, was striding forward, his wand out.

"Refuse like you aren't wanted here," Bellatrix said. "You made a mistake when you came here tonight. You thought you could walk among the purebloods as if you weren't of filthy muggle stock? Fools like you don't deserve to live. _Crucio!_"

Andromeda couldn't believe it. She had known that Bellatrix hated muggles, and muggleborns even more, but this? This was unforgivable – literally, this was an Unforgivable Curse. Her sister was torturing a muggleborn as if it were nothing.

Running forward, wand out, Andromeda bellowed, "_Finite Incantatem!_"

The young witch stopped thrashing, although her breath still came in moaning pants.

"Bellatrix! No, you can't – I won't let you – that's an Unforgivable Curse, Bellatrix –"

Bellatrix turned around, and slapped Andromeda, hard, one of her long nails cutting into Andromeda's cheek. The younger Black did not desist, however. She'd been fighting with Bellatrix for years. "_Expelliarmus!_" Andromeda shouted, but Bellatrix was too quick – she blocked it with a _Protego_, and the spell whizzed back at Andromeda, right at her hand –

Bellatrix deftly caught Andromeda's wand. "You think you can duel me? You poor little puffed-up prefect, you thought that you could disarm me, a Slytherin witch from the House of Black, no traitor to her blood? You disgust me. If we weren't kin, you'd be writhing on the ground, too. Don't count on my good will a second time."

The young witch had staggered to her feet and begun to run off, and Bellatrix whirled after her, shouting out the Impedimenta curse again, but in vain; she was too far off, stumbling her way to safety.

Frustrated, Bellatrix faced Andromeda again. "You lose me my quarry again, Andromeda, and I swear, I'll have your blood for it." Disgusted, she stalked back into the shadows of the alleyway, Avery following.

Andromeda did not doubt her sister for a minute.

Andromeda was hunched up against the wall of the sidestreet, her face in her hands, when she felt her sister's hand dragging her upright. "The riot's over. The aurors have got it mostly calmed down, but they haven't got all of them. Come with me. We've got some recruiting to do."

"Recruiting? Who are you recruiting for?" Andromeda asked, sure she wouldn't like the answer.

"You'll find out later this evening if all goes well. Take your wand." Andromeda caught the slender bit of wood (maple, 8 and ¾ inches, dragon heartstring), and followed her sister. She had no other choice; she wasn't good at flying, it was a long way home, and … and the hero-Gryffindor part of her thought that if she kept with her sister, maybe she could stop a few more people from being hurt.

Diagon Alley was quiet now. Few people were still on the streets; it was past midnight, and most of those who were able had apparated home. A few lay, moaning, on the streets, their magical injuries too great for them to leave. Andromeda stepped in a puddle, and was disgusted to see that it was blood.

Bellatrix, supremely unconcerned, made her way over towards one of the fallen. Andromeda recognized him as the drunkard who'd started the whole riot, and was nauseated to see how Bellatrix fawned over him. Avery muttered an incantation under his breath, and the man staggered to his feet, apparently healed. He conversed in low tones with the two, and then followed as Bellatrix set off again. Andromeda trailed after them, miserable and scared.

Part of her, a very great part of her, wanted to run away from the whole mess. Run back to the Leaky Cauldron, where no doubt Aurors would be tending to some of the injured and getting the worst of the rioters under control. It would be safe, there, at least. She'd have to give her name, though, and the reason why she, an underaged witch, was out of her bed, past midnight, at the scene of a riot. Her name – Black – would trigger warning signals throughout the Ministry, and more Aurors might search her Uncle's home, or they'd interrogate her and Bellatrix. She might be safer for the moment with the Aurors, but in the long run she'd bring trouble down on her own family. Ariadne Black tried to love her middle daughter, but siding with the Ministry over her own kin would be unforgivable.

Trying to convince herself that it was bravery rather than cowardice that motivated her, Andromeda followed her sister as Bellatrix and Avery gathered together a crowd of the rioters.

Past exhaustion, Andromeda collapsed into a chair in Borgin and Burkes', where the proprietor, a thin, stoop-shouldered man with graying hair, kow-towed to Avery and Bellatrix. They'd managed to gather seven of the rioters, all wizards but one. Most were injured to some extent: broken noses, blacked eyes, after effects of various hexes (the witch's face was still disfigured by a particularly stubborn boil). All of them looked at Bellatrix with respect, even admiration.

Once all were settled, Bellatrix began to speak. "I have brought you all here tonight because I know that you feel, as I do, that the wizardkind is threatened, even down to the purity of our blood. My friends, you are not alone. Wizards across Britain are stirring from their complacency, and are finally ready to rise up against the oppression of the so-called Ministry for Magic, and take back their heritage!"

General murmurs of assent ran around the room, but Bellatrix quieted them.

"My friends, I am but part of a growing alliance that wants to take back Wizarding England for Wizards – true wizards – whose blood is untainted by muggle scum. I and my colleague are but part of a vast movement, a movement whose ranks swell every day as more and more of the true blood flock to my master's banner. I met my master only this year, but it took no more than one meeting with him to know that his is the true calling. My friends, I trust I can rely on your support?"

More murmurs of assent were heard, and Bellatrix smiled.

"Good! My friends, there is to be a meeting tonight, a meeting with my master, with the Dark Lord –"

Here she was cut off, as the assembled witches and wizards began to talk among themselves, excitedly. Dark Lord, Andromeda thought. That was what they had called Grindelwald – a Dark Lord. If this wizard were trying to be another Grindelwald…

She shivered. If Bellatrix had gotten mixed up with the dark wizard all the adults were worried about…

Bellatrix had finally gotten the small crowd to quiet. "My friends! There is to be a meeting tonight. If you feel as strongly as I do, I urge you to join me, to join my companions and myself, tonight! The Dark Lord – he is indeed a Lord, a Lord to rival all wizards who have ever been – will meet with you, meet with us, tonight! I extend this invitation to join me, to join the Dark Lord and his followers, tonight!"

The crowd looked uneasy – it was all very well to cause havoc, but this was far more serious.

Bellatrix sensed she was losing them. "My friends, look at you! You voiced your anger and your righteous fury at the Ministry for Magic's betrayal of wizardkind, and their representatives, the aurors, attacked you! They have stifled you not only as wizards, but as free people whose voices MUST be heard! If the Ministry will not heed your calls for reform, you must turn to another, a wizard who knows the need for change, who understands your rage. Oh, my friends, the Ministry, your own Ministry, has massacred you for exerting your rights as wizards, and you still doubt the necessity of action?"

She had struck just the right note. Andromeda watched in sick fascination as, one by one, the doubts of the crowd were vanished by Bellatrix.

Bellatrix was incredible. She was beautiful – dark and radiant, her blue robe bringing out the black of her hair and her eyes. She was dynamic, her voice strident and pleading, forceful, commanding, and terrifying. She was – brilliant.

It was horrifying.

Avery spoke up, finally. "There is an apparition point to which you must all make. I will explain the details to you." He drew up a map in mid air, a map labeled "Ysgyryd Fawr." Andromeda had never heard of it.

Meanwhile, Bellatrix had sidled over to her seated sister. "You can't apparate," Bellatrix said flatly. "There's no way to floo, anyway. I'll have to make a portkey."

The prefect in Andromeda came out, and, absurdly, she said, "You can't do that! That's illegal!"

Bellatrix laughed, and Andromeda laughed too – laughter that became indistinguishable from sobbing.

"Come on. I'll stay behind with you. _He_ won't arrive there until two in the morning, anyway; we won't be late."

Andromeda looked up, her vision blurred by tears. "I won't go, Bellatrix. Your sister I may be, but I refuse to become part of all this. I'm Gryffindor, not Slytherin. I don't think the way you do, and I'll be damned if I become part of all this!"

Fighting Bellatrix was always futile. "You're coming, Andromeda. Why did you think I brought you here tonight? Sure, the riot was fun, but I've bigger things to do. Anyway, He is very eager to meet another Black sister."

"Bellatrix, I won't –"

"Sit down." It was a command, and Andromeda found herself complying, as she always did. She hated herself for it.

"Sit down, Andromeda. What else could you possibly do? To get home you'd need to go back into Diagon Alley, which by now will be swarming with aurors. They'll haul you in for questioning, and they may even charge you as an accomplice – your sister, after all, started the riot. They'll want to know why you haven't already reported to the aurors, if you were just an innocent bystander. They'll want your name. They'll call in Mother and Father, and when they discover that I, too, am not present at home as I ought to be, they'll know that I'm involved. They'll search our house again. You'll be ostracized and estranged by every full-blooded Black." Bellatrix paused, enjoying Andromeda's discomfort. "You're coming. I'm the only one who can get you home safely, the only one who can keep you from the aurors."

Disgusted by her own weakness, Andromeda nodded, hating Bellatrix, hating herself more. Andromeda was Gryffindor. She was brave, usually – she stood up for people in school, and she'd challenged her parents for most of her life. Bellatrix, though – Andromeda had always been scared of her older sister, had never been able to win any fight with the domineering girl. It hadn't changed. Sixteen, a Gryffindor prefect, an excellent student, she was still terrified of her sister. The seed of cowardice was in her, swallowing her.

With deafening pops, Avery and the other wizards apparated, and Bellatrix stood. "To action. Burke!" she shouted, and the store proprietor scurried forward. "I need something to use as a portkey. My sister is, for obvious reasons, still unable to apparate."

Burke nodded nervously, but before he could leave, Bellatrix called him back. "Are you coming? The Dark Lord needs men such as you, men who have never abandoned the old ways. He would welcome a man such as you."

Burke looked at the ground, unable to meet Bellatrix's eyes. "I – it wouldn't be wise, the Ministry… the aurors will be along soon enough, making sure that I wasn't involved… could lose my business, getting involved with this. It – it isn't fiscally sound. Business, you know."

Sneering, Bellatrix nodded. "I see. I shall tell the Dark Lord you are afraid, then." If there was anything the Black family hated, it was cowardice, Andromeda reflected. Most of the Blacks loved blood more – but the few who cared little for familial descent always ended up Gryffindor.

Burke started, and looked as if about to reconsider, but then thought better of it, and, his shoulders in a defeated slump, walked towards his back room.

He returned holding a dingy bucket, a hole in one side. Bellatrix sniffed disdainfully, but still whipped out her wand. "_Portus_," she said, the bucket glowing for a moment. "Grab on, Andromeda."

Andromeda extended her hand at the same moment Bellatrix did, and felt a jerk beneath her navel, as Borgin and Burkes disappeared behind her, in a whirl of color and sound.

They came out into the midst of mountains Andromeda did not know, high on a rocky hilltop. Away below there was a church, muggle, it looked like - the tiny village visible far at the foot of the mountain was lit by electric lights. What on earth could they be doing here? Why here? Why would such wizards meet in this place?

No answers were forthcoming. The crowd Bellatrix had brought shuffled nervously, looking about them with surprise and, in some faces, distaste. Avery did his best to reassure the assembled recruits.

Then, to Andromeda's surprise, more witches and wizards began to apparate onto the mountain. Not many – not the swarms Bellatrix had described – but an intimidating number nonetheless. They all wore hoods and cloaks as Avery had, and they all strode forward purposefully, forming a ring around the recruits from Diagon Alley. Smiling, Bellatrix pulled up the hood of her own cloak, and joined the circle.

Andromeda backed away, but found her way blocked by two cloaked figures, and, unsure, tried to make out Bellatrix. But in the gloom, the cloaked figures all looked identical. As she peered at the assembled wizards, Andromeda realized, to her horror, that they were all wearing white masks, masks that looked like nothing more than skulls. She began to panic. Bellatrix was no guarantee of safety, but to be alone, with these wizards – wizards who she knew to be capable of murder, if Avery … if Avery and her sister were any guide…

And then a surge of hot anger ran through her body. She had shown weakness in Knockturn Alley, but she would not show weakness here. She would not show_ fear_ here. She was Gryffindor, and she was a Black. The two might be diametrically opposed, but both meant strength. She would be strong.

She shrugged her shoulders back, and stood taller, feeling bravery return to her. Return to her until she saw the tall, cloaked figure striding out of the darkness of the mountain toward the ring of masked witches and wizards.

It was his eyes. Red and piercing, shining through the darkness, the wizard's eyes cut to Andromeda's core. She felt them searching her, inside and out, as if they knew everything that she was – all her weaknesses, all her failings, all her fears and idiocies and flaws.

As he came closer, Andromeda could see his face, too – bone white, framed by black hair, the skin drawn tight over a narrow face which might once have been handsome, but now bore eerie resemblance to the skull-like masks. He wore red robes, and a black cloak like the assembled wizards. In his hand was a long, thin wand, clutched by fingers even whiter than his face.

"Ahh," he said, his voice hissing and sibilant. "You have come, all assembled, my faithful servants, and faces I have never seen before. Have you carried out tonight's plans, my Death Eaters?" He stood, now, at the edge of the ring, looking inward at the recruits and at Andromeda. Then, in a sharper tone of voice, he said, "Black. Report."

For one petrifying moment, Andromeda thought the order was directed at her, but then she heard her sister's voice, saying, "I arrived at Diagon Alley as planned, perhaps a few minutes after ten in the evening. As expected, there were many wizards and witches of the old blood out tonight. I must praise whoever it was who started the rumors; they were all primed perfectly – agitated but not fearful, suspicious but not knowledgeable. Diagon Alley was, of course, swarming with aurors. Ministry intelligence must be getting better."

The red-eyed wizard nodded shortly. "Continue," he said. "I am aware."

Taking a deep breath, Bellatrix said, "I ascended the steps of Gringott's, and addressed the crowd. They responded well to my words; a riot started, largely thanks to this man here." She gestured towards the formerly drunken wizard, who looked nervously about, first at Bellatrix, and then – not looking him in the eye – at Bellatrix's interrogator. "The riot soon escalated into a full-blown battle. I believe one auror was killed, perhaps more; many were wounded. I apprehended a muggleborn, but was unable to complete my torture and execution due to …external circumstances." She glanced quickly at Andromeda, but then continued. "After the riot was over, Avery and myself went among the wounded rioters, aiding those who seemed most responsive to our mission. We recruited seven in all."

"I see," the cloaked wizard said, his tone unreadable. "You have done well, Bella."

Andromeda felt shock, not only that this wizard called Bellatrix by her childhood nickname, but that Bellatrix, who had always hated the pet name, had accepted it without protest. It made her more afraid.

"So," Bellatrix's interrogator said, "seven new recruits. An auspicious number, seven. But there are eight of you here tonight, eight faces which I have not seen before. Tell me, Bella, why did you tell me of only seven?"

The masked figure with Bellatrix's voice jerked slightly, as if frightened, and Andromeda heard her sister nervously say, "Seven recruits, my Lord, seven recruits and one other. She is – the eighth is my sister."

The skull-faced man threw back his head and laughed, delighted, gleeful. "Another Black! Well, it is indeed a noble house – two Death Eaters I can call my own, two Black servants of the Dark Lord." He laughed again at his own joke.

Andromeda was terrified, but underneath it, she was furious. Bellatrix always presumed, always assumed that her younger sisters would be happy to follow her. And now –

"I won't!" Reckless, stupid, foolhardy Gryffindor courage surged up inside of her, and she heard her own defiant voice say, "I won't. I'm not my sister, I'm not my family, and I WILL NOT."

Ten seconds ringing silence followed this proclamation. The skull-faced man stopped laughing, and turned his gaze on her. Try as she might, Andromeda could not meet it. The red eyes seared across her, and she felt as if her very soul were contaminated, made into bubbling filth by his stare.

"You won't?" It was said quietly, and Andromeda was not so foolish as not to see the danger. It was the sort of question Ariadne Black asked of her when she defied some family tradition. It was a sign of impending pain.

"You won't?" The man who called himself the Dark Lord turned towards Bellatrix and said, a little anger in his voice, "Tell me, Bella, when you brought your sister here tonight, did it occur to you that I should have to kill her?"

Andromeda's heart stopped, but even as the terror poured over her, she thought she heard a faint cry from her older sister.

"My Lord! I beg of you, no – I thought to bring her here before you so she could see your glory and your power, I thought it would turn her back to the true path! She has been led astray by fools and blood traitors! I only thought to cleanse her here tonight in the splendor of your mag –"

"_Crucio_," the skull-faced man said, almost lazily.

It was the second time Andromeda had seen the Cruciatus Curse. The second time that night, the second time in her life. First it had been her sister's spell, and now it was her sister being tortured. Justice. Wizard's justice.

The terror was in every part of Andromeda, and she was frozen with fear. Only feet away her oldest sister was being tortured, and she couldn't lift a finger to help her. Never mind that Bellatrix was cruel, that Bellatrix had manipulated her, that Bellatrix had shown herself capable of evil – it was her sister, and Andromeda stood helpless, defenseless, useless.

She was going to die, Andromeda realized. He was going to kill her; she would die; she would never kiss Ted Tonks again beside the Lake; Narcissa would grow up sisterless.

"STOP!"

The curse lifted, and Andromeda could hear her sister panting. "If you're going to kill me – don't hurt Bellatrix."

The man who called himself the Dark Lord laughed again, and it was cruel this time. "Oh, Bella, your sister is so sweet. You led her to her death, and she wants to spare you the pain. Little Black, I do not tolerate weakness from my Death Eaters, and I do not tolerate foolishness, either. Your sister was foolish to bring you. She deserves this pain. Tell me, little Black, before I kill you, why do you care what pain your sister feels?"

The world was spinning, but Andromeda did not give way to the vertigo. "She's my sister!" She could barely get the words out. Panic was closing in around her throat, but those red eyes were compelling her, and she had to give him the answers he wanted. There was no way to defy this man – was he a man? – when he looked at you with those merciless red eyes.

"Such loyalty," he whispered. "A pity it will die in you. Such loyalty would be well rewarded if you were to serve me. I give you one more chance, little Black, one more chance. Serve me, and you do not die, and your sister will be spared a little pain this night."

"I won't," Andromeda said, thinking of Ted, and of the muggleborn witch lying on the street.

The man who called himself the Dark Lord raised his wand, and Andromeda thought to herself that she might see another unforgivable curse before she died, but then Bellatrix cried out.

"I beg of you, my Lord, I beg of you the privilege – the Death Eater's privilege, the family –"

The wand dropped, but the skull-like face did not turn away from Andromeda. In little more than a hiss, the man who called himself the Dark Lord said, "You ask a great deal, Bella. I will grant this, but you shall pay dearly for it."

"Little Black," he said, his eyes never leaving hers, "you will live tonight, but you shall not walk free. The Dark Lord does not give up his quarry gladly. You are sixteen, are you not? I give you one more year until you come of age, one more year to pledge yourself to me or to forfeit all privilege of protection as a Death Eater's sister. The Dark Lord is lenient tonight, but he does not forget. Come here, little Black."

When those red eyes ordered Andromeda to step forward, she did not hesitate.

The bone white fingers clutched her right arm, pulling back the sleeve of her robe. Andromeda watched, both detached and horrified, as a slender yew wand traced a picture on her arm. Andromeda felt overwhelming pain, but she could see no mark on her skin.

He dropped her arm. "You bear the Dark Lord's mark, little Black," he hissed. "For one year past this day, none under my sway shall touch you. At this very hour one year hence, your arm will burn with my sign. You shall disapparate to my side, and the mark shall stay, burnt black for eternity, or I shall kill you. Now, little Black – go!"

Stumbling, delirious from the pain, Andromeda staggered out of the circle of wizards, stumbling down the mountain to the tiny church she'd seen below, not stopping until she could lie quiet against its decaying stone walls. A few moments into her flightshe heard her sister screaming in agony.

* * *

The soft sky before dawn matched exactly the color of Bellatrix Black's robes, but the girl's beauty from only twelve hours before was gone. Pain had etched itself into her face, and there was little of the joy – even the malicious, vengeful joy – left in it. It would return, Andromeda knew, the beauty would not be gone forever.

"Hello, little sister," Bellatrix said.

"Hello, Bellatrix," Andromeda replied. "You saved my life."

"I do love you," Bellatrix said. "You are my sister. You are a Black."

"I'm going to die," Andromeda could not help but say.

"Let's go home," Bellatrix said, too tired – or was she just resigned? – to dispute Andromeda's statement.

Grabbing hold of her younger sister's shoulder, Bellatrix apparated them home.


	2. The First Party

**The First Party - Narcissa**

Narcissa Malfoy was both miserable and furious. She had been so excited to see her aunt and uncle, and her younger cousins, Sirius and Regulus; she was the youngest Black sister, and so being around her cousins gave her the chance to act like a responsible older child. She loved dinner parties, too – dressing up, and elegant conversations, exquisite French food and a sip of her mother's wine when the dinner was finished. Pretending she was an adult, and not the baby of the family. She always looked forwards to such evenings.

But her older sisters, Bellatrix and Andromeda, had spoiled everything for her. Ariadne had been frantic when both girls were found to be missing, and she had berated her husband Orion for hours. They hadn't gone out. Narcissa had sat around in her lovely new ice blue dress waiting for her two sisters to come home, her arms folded, dwelling glumly on her ruined evening.

Bellatrix had apparated into the Black family's parlor at five in the morning. Ariadne said that it was a wonder the girl hadn't splinched herself and Andromeda; Bellatrix was obviously exhausted. She and Andromeda looked as if they'd gone through hell and back, but neither of them would say a word about their location. They'd stayed close-lipped as first Ariadne, and then Orion had shouted and scolded and lectured, and they were unusually friendly as they walked up the stairs to their separate rooms.

It all just made Narcissa furious. Andromeda, of course, had always been a pain – she always made a fuss about _everything_, and she deliberately tried to sabotage family gatherings. Bellatrix, though, had always behaved better. Bellatrix was unpredictable, but Bellatrix didn't go running off in the middle of the night only to return looking like mother's worst nightmare of mudblood trash. Bellatrix had never put her arm over Andromeda's shoulder like that, either, helped her up the stairs, put her head on Andromeda's shoulder. Bellatrix had never taken Andromeda's side in anything.

Narcissa had counted on Bellatrix.

And now Narcissa was alone in the parlor, still in her dress robe, still with her arms crossed, while her two older sisters slept, while Ariadne cried in the dining room, while Orion Black prepared for a grueling, miserable day at the ministry, working to forward the special interests group he headed along with his brother and the Malfoys.

Life just wasn't fair. Narcissa was the good girl. She didn't cause trouble, like Andromeda, or invite trouble, the way Bellatrix did. She got good grades in school – not terrific; she didn't want to show anyone up. She was friends with the right sort of girls and boys. She was nice to Lucius Malfoy, who was starting his seventh year, because Ariadne said it was a good idea to cultivate a relationship with that sort of man, and anyway, the Lestrange heir was already taken. She never did anything the least bit interesting, because Narcissa was supposed to be the quiet, dependable Black sister.

At the moment, Narcissa was feeling rather rebellious. In fact, Narcissa was just about to grab a handful of floo powder and disappear to her aunt and uncle's London townhouse (maybe they'd pay attention to her if she disappeared, too), when her mother looked up and snapped, "Oh, go get changed, Narcissa. There's no point in wrinkling up your dress like this. Put it on the hanger for Lorry to iron when she's done in the kitchen."

Grumpily, Narcissa got up, her legs numb after hours of sitting.

"And don't stomp!" Ariadne called out from the dining room, as Narcissa dragged herself up the stairs.

Dinner that evening was a chilly affair. Andromeda and Bellatrix sat next to each other on one side of the table, Narcissa sat on the other, and Orion and Ariadne Black glared at each other from their respective ends of the long mahogany table. Ariadne said practically nothing except a few barked orders to the house-elf, Scuppin, to bring in more wine. Orion glowered at all of them, especially his wife, and occasionally would start to criticize a flaw in one of his daughters at length before cutting himself off and sawing angrily at his roast.

Narcissa was the only one who felt like eating. Bellatrix and Andromeda only picked at their foods, and Narcissa saw scrapes and bruises on both of them, Bellatrix the worst. When Bellatrix stood, her legs shook, and Andromeda got to her feet immediately, solicitously helping her sister up the stairs. Narcissa stared after them, baffled as to what could have made former enemies so close.

When the two oldest sisters were gone, though, Orion and Ariadne finally began to talk to each other. The tension in the room was tangible, and Narcissa had the sense not to say anything as Ariadne interrogated Orion about his day at the Ministry. Ariadne had never been pleased that her husband came so close to actually working – Orion's brother Aquilla was always in the Ministry too, of course, for both Black brothers were frequent lobbyists, but Orion, as the younger, spent most of his time doing paperwork or writing _amicus curiae_ briefs or doing work which Ariadne thought fitting only for lesser mortals, not for Blacks.

Orion responded monosyllabically to most of his wife's questions, but finally he sighed, and put down his cutlery, folding his hands on the table. "Ariadne," he said, "The Malfoys will be having some sort of soiree two weeks from today. They have invited all members of the Black family to attend; it will be quite the social gathering, to celebrate Lucius Malfoy's coming of age – we must attend."

Ariadne nodded slowly, and Narcissa watched her mother expectantly. Ariadne had always had always competed with Lucretia Malfoy, and she would enjoy the opportunity to subtly criticize her rival's preparation for the elaborate event. Ariadne loved society parties, and she loved even more to disparage them.

"We won't be taking Bellatrix or Andromeda," Ariadne said abruptly.

"What?" Orion said, nonplussed.

"I won't let Andromeda out of the house until I learn where she and Bellatrix were last evening. Andromeda has flouted authority too often to be allowed to get away with it again, and Bellatrix – well. The girl thinks she's ready to behave exactly as she pleases simply because she's eighteen, and has left Hogwarts. If she wants to live under my roof, she'll behave with proper decorum, and she won't see anything but the inside of this house until she behaves like a proper daughter of the Blacks! She's been looking forward to the Debutante for months, I know, but she won't be attending _any_ social gatherings until she learns to obey!"

Narcissa listened with quiet delight. Her parents never said anything interesting in front of her – she was always too young or too innocent, even if Andromeda and Bellatrix were only a couple years older. And now, Narcissa was with Mother and Father, and it was her sisters' turn to be left out!

Orion was frowning. "We can't go to the party without them, Ariadne. It wouldn't be fitting – it will, after all, be Lucius Malfoy's formal introduction to society, and if we don't have at least one of the girls there, it will look bizarre, especially now that Andromeda's come of age. You understand the necessity of appearances."

"Can I go?" Narcissa asked, surprising even herself.

Ariadne looked at her for a long moment, and then said, "May I go, Narcissa."

"May I go to the party? If it would please you, mother?"

Ariadne nodded. "Yes. Yes, I suppose you may, Narcissa. I suppose it's time you saw something of society outside of family parties. You're a bit young yet, but sometimes I think you're the most mature of your sisters. Well."

The dinner was silent after that, but Narcissa finished her roast lamb in happy contentment.

The next few weeks were a blur of anticipation for Narcissa. Her mother took her down to Diagon Alley and had her fitted for a set of new dress robes, the seamstress chattering on all the while about the riots a few days earlier. Ariadne, too, had new dress robes made in the imitation-Edwardian style that was becoming increasingly popular.

At home, Ariadne drilled Narcissa for hours on the proper behavior expected of her, and Narcissa glowed when her mother told her that she was the quickest of her sisters to learn. Not that it was surprising – Bellatrix never paid any heed to laws, and Andromeda flouted them purposefully.

Narcissa couldn't help but feel a little unhappy, though. Bellatrix and Andromeda simply refused to say where they had been and what had happened, and the two were becoming closer, driven by their shared secret. Narcissa was left out entirely. Bellatrix had never been terribly friendly, but she'd always taken the same side Narcissa had. They'd sometimes shared a gossip about Andromeda, and Narcissa had loved it. Bellatrix was ignoring Narcissa entirely now, though.

In fact, Bellatrix was ignoring everyone but Andromeda. She stayed silently in her room during the day, and during the night she left home, never telling Ariadne where she went. The two fought often, Ariadne screaming that Bellatrix had no right to go anywhere without consulting her mother, and Bellatrix retorting that she was being stifled, and had every right to live her own life. It was farcically similar to Andromeda's fights with their mother, except that Andromeda never spoke a word these days, and never left the house.

Narcissa had tried to talk to her middle sister, but Andromeda wouldn't say a word – Andromeda had retreated into her own room, like Bellatrix, but Andromeda simply refused to come out. At night, Narcissa could hear low sobs from across the hallway. Occasionally, Narcissa wished she had the nerve to comfort her sister, or to just point-blank ask her, but always her daring failed her at the last minute.

And then, finally, it was the night of the party.

Narcissa found herself at the receiving end of Ariadne's fussing, her hair curled and face done up, her robes immaculately styled in the latest fashions for young ladies (Juliet gowns were enjoying a brief revival). At precisely eight o'clock, Narcissa was a confection of green silk and white lace, with her pale blond hair piled on top of her head in immaculate curls. Ariadne and Orion were dressed in more restrained robes of the traditional black. It was Narcissa who would attract attention for the lesser wing of the Black family.

Andromeda didn't come to see them out, but Bellatrix leaned on the stairwell, darkly beautiful and exuding disdain. Narcissa fought hard to keep herself from glowering at her older sister, but the casually arched eyebrows and supercilious smile infuriated the younger girl. She shot a death glare at Bellatrix, but the older girl only laughed.

"Oh, Narcissa, your first party. Try not to trip over your own feet, there's a dear."

By all rights, that should have elicited some response from Ariadne, but she sailed on by Bellatrix, paying her less attention than she would a fly. "Come, Narcissa; we aren't flooing – soot on that robe! – and you can't apparate, so we've arranged for a portkey.

Narcissa wrinkled her nose slightly, anticipating a moldy rag or a crumpled newspaper, and was pleasantly surprised to see a gold-embossed Malfoy seal, hovering outside their door. One finger extended slightly, Narcissa felt the familiar jerk and rush of air as she flew through the night to Wiltshire.

The Malfoy Manor itself was a grand and eclectic, some wings of the expansive building dating back almost to Hogwarts' founding, others constructed recently (in a wizarding view of the world, of course: the New Hall had been built in 1791). Specially for the party, lamps full of glowing fairies illuminated the manicured gardens before the great doors, held wide open to reveal the glittering entrance hall. Witches and wizards were arriving from across Britain – and even some from the Malfoy connections in France – for the society event of the summer.

Narcissa was nearly breathless from excitement, the nervousness making it difficult for her to keep her balance in the painfully high green silk heels (she was used to slippers). Orion, smiling benevolently at his daughter, offered Narcissa his arm, Ariadne smiling in approval as Narcissa carefully walked up the promenade toward the gates along with the other party guests.

They were greeted at the doors by carefully-liveried house elves, who offered the adults champagne; Narcissa wished that she, too, were allowed a drink, but knew better than to ask.

The glittering entrance hall, all creamy marble and gold, with little grottos off to the side, adorned with more fairies, was filled with guests. Malfoy parties were exclusive, but for so grand an event, every pureblood family in Britain, even the execrable Weasleys (though from the preferable Lancashire branch, rather than those of Ottery St. Catchpole), were represented.

Narcissa and her parents processed slowly through the glittering hall, towards the very back, where the Malfoy family stood, regal, receiving the homage of their many guests.

After a very bashful Mr. and Mrs. Augustin Parkinson had received their audience, Lucretia Malfoy, the formidable family matriarch, greeted Ariadne as though they were sisters – though, as Narcissa knew, there was about as much sisterly warmth between Ariadne Black and Lucretia Malfoy as there was between Andromeda and Bellatrix – at least, as much as there had been, Narcissa thought, repressing a scowl.

When the adults had finished shaking hands, Lucretia turned her cold grey eyes on Narcissa. Ariadne, with a hard smile on her face, gave the introductions. "This is our youngest daughter, Narcissa. I am afraid that our two eldest daughters were unable to attend tonight, but Narcissa did so want to come."

Narcissa curtsied low, a delicate blush on her face, until Lucretia lifted her up with a gloved hand. The Malfoy matriarch was tremendous – not grossly fat, but decidedly stout, she was as regal as a queen. Her silver robes were bedecked with diamonds, as was the tiara in her mass of silver curls. Abraxas Malfoy, though a dignified and impressive personage in his own right, was nowhere near as stupendous.

"Ah, Narcissa. I have heard so much about you from my son, Lucius, whom I'm sure you know?"

"We have been acquainted at Hogwarts," Narcissa said, blushing prettily again. "We're both in Slytherin, ma'am."

So they were; in the presence of the formidable Lucretia Malfoy, Narcissa had quite forgotten that the party was in honor of Lucius. The Malfoy heir, standing by his father, was smiling slightly, in immaculate black and green dress robes, his long hair tied back with a silk ribbon. He truly looked like a man, for all his youth, Narcissa thought – he was tall and broad-shouldered, his face more masculine than his father's pointed visage; he had his mother's air of command.

"I am pleased to see you, Narcissa," Lucius said with a smile. "I had been expecting Bellatrix, but I must say, I am not disappointed that you are attending in her place."

Lucretia Malfoy looked displeased at her son's indiscretion, but Narcissa laughed happily. She had always liked Lucius, though she'd never thought her schoolgirl affection was returned – he, like all the other boys, had had eyes only for Bellatrix.

"Shall you be joining your father with his Ministry work when you leave Hogwarts, Lucius?" Orion inquired, his face a polite mask.

"I think so," Abraxas replied for his son. "Lucius received nine O.W.L's, you know; we were very pleased."

As the adults began discussing their children's accomplishments at Hogwarts, Narcissa found herself growing a little bored. It was all very well to be the subject of conversation, but she hardly wanted to talk about _Hogwarts_. In her party things, in this grand and magnificent mansion, she had thought she would be dancing, or making sophisticated conversation about anything but school marks!

Lucius, too, looked rather put out. While Abraxas and Orion debated the relative worth of the O.W.L. versus the N.E.W.T., Lucius said softly, "They are being rather tiresome, aren't they? Father's done this with every family to have a child at Hogwarts, you know, and we've had to greet twenty-eight families so far."

"Oh, I know!" Narcissa said, though she didn't, really, never having been to a party like this before. "Mother does this every time we're at my uncle Aquilla's home in London. I'd much rather talk about something interesting – we're in Hogwarts enough, we don't have to talk about it in the summer, don't you think?"

"We'll have to have a talk all our own when they," and Lucius jerked his head toward the adults, "let us alone. I really am glad it's you here tonight – Bellatrix always tries to steal all the attention, and sometimes I can't even believe that Andromeda's a sister of yours."

"Oh, I _know_!" Narcissa said again. "Bellatrix probably would have come, except she snuck out of the house, just after we'd gotten home from Hogwarts! Mother was ever so put out, and so Bellatrix isn't allowed to go anywhere until she says where on earth she can have been – and Andromeda was gone, too, you know, with Bellatrix! Really, Bella is getting just as bad as Andromeda about some things."

"She's always been that way. I remember, two years ago she was with your parents at my uncle's estate in –"

But their conversation was forestalled, when Lucretia Malfoy said, her voice not entirely apologetic, "It is so lovely seeing you again, Araidne, Orion, but I'm afraid we simply must greet our other guests. You'll join us at the high table for supper?"

"Oh, of course!" Ariadne said, clearly delighted that even the lesser wing of the Black family had warranted seating with the Malfoys themselves.

Narcissa curtsied once more before following her parents off, looking regretfully over her shoulder at Lucius, who winked at her slightly before turning to shake Mr. and Mrs. Antonin Dolohov's hands.

For a full forty-five minutes before dinner, the party guests mingled. First Narcissa was dragged off by Ariadne to the Ladies' Reception Room, where Narcissa was introduced to Mrs. Parkinson, Nott, Mulciber, Crabbe, Goyle, and Lestrange (Rabastan Lestrange, a school friend of Lucius Malfoy, was also in attendance, though _not_ in the Ladies' Reception Room). Narcissa had to endure repeated conversation about her school accomplishments, and by the time the guests were called to dinner, Narcissa was beginning to think that parties might be rather more tiresome than she'd assumed.

Dinner was lovely, though. Most of the guests were served dinner on the back lawn in the rear of the great Malfoy Manor, but the Blacks had been invited into the special dining room, where the Malfoys themselves dined. The room was sumptuous, decorated with heavily embroidered tapestries and the portraits of many Malfoy forbears, who were watching the party with obvious interest; and the food was magnificent.

Over leg of lamb and lobster bisque, Narcissa basked in the conversation which, after all the introductions were made, was finally more interesting than what kind of marks Narcissa had received on her Transfiguration finals in her fourth year. Narcissa loved gossip, and this was the best sort of all – who had married whom this June, and weren't the Parkinsons the _worst_ sort of social climbers, and hadn't Mrs. Mulciber's gown at the Ministry Cotillion been simply grand?

Narcissa couldn't speak, of course, being only fourteen (fifteen in August), but she listened to it all, reveling in her elegant silk robes and the delightful conversation. She and her parents had been seated towards the wrong end of the table, unfortunately – Aquilla and Cassiopeia Black were practically _next_ to Lucretia Malfoy, to Ariadne's disgust – but it gave Ariadne the chance to speak rather more freely about Lucretia Malfoy's tasteless choice of fairy lights rather than the more traditional candles.

Narcissa couldn't help but wish, however, that she was a little closer to Lucius. He was surrounded entirely by witches and wizards his parents' age – even Rabastan Black, his best friend, wasn't allowed to sit next to him – and he looked dreadfully bored. During the soufflé, Narcissa ventured a smile in his direction, and was delighted to see that he smiled back – and winked, again!

Finally, the dinner was over, down to the last morsel of imported cheese, and it was time for the dancing.

This was really what Narcissa was excited about – there were many young ladies at the party, though not so many in the dining room itself, and most of them were there for the chance to dance with Lucius. The Malfoy heir was still too young for marriage, of course, but now that he was of age he was eminently eligible for the next dew years. Had Andromeda been there, Ariadne would doubtless have tried to shove the girl into Lucius's arms, despite the fact that the two of them despised each other on instinct.

The Great Hall was just as magnificent as the rest of the Malfoy Manor. Directly in the center of the sprawling mansion, it had been redone in 1897 in the style of an Italian Villa, to suit the tastes of the still-legendary Eleanora Malfoy; a grand staircase led from the second floor family apartments to the left of the hall, and in the balconies overseeing the magnificent marble Hall, a small orchestra had struck up a waltz.

For the first dance, to Narcissa's utter chagrin, she found herself partnerless – Orion was, of course, dancing with Ariadne, and the few young men were all with girls closer to their own age. Narcissa realized unhappily that she was easily the youngest girl in attendence.

For the second dance, her father took pity on her, and rescued her from her lonely velvet chair while Ariadne flirted shamelessly with Aurelius Lestrange. It was lovely to dance, and Narcissa enjoyed herself, but too soon the waltz was at an end, and Narcissa was partnerless, again.

For five whole dances, Narcissa watched the adults glide around the dance floor, resplendent in their robes. The eldest Lestrange girl, Cornelia, was especially lovely – her tawny hair was tamed by pearls, and her robes, magnificently pink and gold, positively glowed next to her skin. She danced first with Alaric Mulciber, and then, to Narcissa's distress, with Lucius Malfoy himself.

And to think she had been looking forward to the dancing, too! She'd dreamed that she'd be swept off of her feet by dashing young wizards in elegant dress robes, that they would escort her across the dance floor until dawn, that she'd even be the belle of the ball (the last she knew had been ridiculous). She hadn't thought she'd be the wallflower nobody wanted to dance with!

Narcissa was feeling very sorry for herself when her extended study of the Malfoys' elaborate marble floor was interrupted by a pair of shiny black leather shoes. The owner of these shoes, she discovered, was extending his hand to her, in an invitation to join him on the dance floor.

"I could hardly allow you to sit out the entire night's dancing," Lucius Malfoy said.

Delighted, Narcissa got to her feet so quickly she staggered, having forgotten that balancing on heels was entirely different than walking on ballet flats. Lucius steadied her, one hand resting on the small of her back. Beaming gloriously, she allowed him to escort her onto the floor.

For the first dance, she hardly spoke at all, too delighted to be dancing to say anything. When the last strains of the spirited Viennese waltz had faded away, however, to be replaced by a sprightly gavotte, Narcissa felt sure that Lucius would excuse himself. To her surprise, however, he merely smiled at Giovanna Montague, and kept his strong but gentle hands firmly clasped about Narcissa's own.

As they whirled about the dance floor, Lucius whispered in Narcissa's ear, "I know I really should have danced with the Montague girl, but she's an unbearable cow. She _never_ stops talking, and it's always about the silliest things."

As Lucius lifted her into the air for a perfectly-timed spin, Narcissa threw back her head and laughed.

They danced five times in a row. After the gavotte, Narcissa had again thought Lucius would leave her, but instead they began to talk about family, and politics, which in the wizarding world were practically the same thing.

Narcissa had always liked Lucius – had been a little in love with him practically since her first year – but he had never paid her much attention. He had been polite, distant, and altogether out of her reach, being two years older than her, and from his fifth year on, a prefect to boot. Now, however, he was interested, solicitous, and generous in his conversation. Narcissa didn't know why, but she hardly wanted to stop for questions. It was too perfect an evening to spoil.

She flattered him shamelessly, and he returned every compliment in turn, even going so far to say that in a few years he was sure she'd outshine even Cornelia Lestrange.

And then, after a slow minuet, Lucretia Malfoy appeared practically out of nowhere, a tight smile on her face. "It's so lovely to see you enjoying yourself, Narcissa, but I'm afraid I simply must ask Lucius to see his other guests."

And Narcissa was left, stranded in the middle of the floor, as Lucius was led away by his mother to meet to the Boots' oldest daughter. Just before Narcissa turned to walk back to her seat, she saw Lucius turn his head slightly toward her and mouth the words, "I'll be back."

With decidedly more spring in her step, Narcissa decided that perhaps she'd go out onto the lawn, instead.

The night air was cool, and for a moment Narcissa wished she'd brought the velvet cape she'd left in the Ladies' Reception Room. She acclimated quickly, however, and drank in the scene.

Many of the party guests were either too old or too bored with dancing to spend their entire evening in the Great Hall, and the back gardens, especially the sloping Lawn, had been set aside for after-dinner conversation. The Pavillions where dinner had been hosted for the majority of the guests were still up, with House Elves offering little trays of confections, and glasses of champagne.

Narcissa was rather tempted to try to snag a glass of champagne for herself, but again resisted. It wouldn't do to ruin the evening by disobeying Ariadne, who had remained strict with Bellatrix and Andromeda about underage drinking, too. Narcissa wasn't sure quite what to do with herself – strolling the lawns was all very good, but she didn't really have any company, and it got tiresome quickly.

Seeing her father, Orion, with a group of his Ministry friends, she sped up to join him – but at the sound of hushed voices slowed, and then halted behind a stand of fir trees, listening intently to the conversation.

"– but if there's really a new Dark Lord, we shall have to take sides soon," said a portly man Narcissa thought might be Gerald Rosier.

"I shouldn't like to take sides before we know his strength," Themistocles Wilkes said, his voice so low Narcissa could barely hear.

"I say caution, too," Narcissa heard her father say. "I'm all for the purification of the Wizarding race, and kicking the muggleborn trash out of the Ministry, but his methods, if the rumors are true, go too far… from what I've heard, he's only been in the country for four years or so, he spent a long time in Eastern Europe – he has strong ties to the Russians.

"The aurors are having a devil of a time tracking him down, too. They think he's down in Wales somewhere, going by his apparition patterns, but he could be in Tanganyika for all they know. He's a nasty piece of work from what I've heard – indubitably powerful, and a charismatic man, too. Most of his followers are young, you know, just graduated from Hogwarts, or else they're from the criminal element. Makes you wonder, doesn't it, what sort of man would employ _werewolves_ to do his bidding."

There was a low murmur of assent from some, and then the man Narcissa thought was called Rosier asked, "Do you know where the Malfoys stand, Orion?"

"Abraxas is a cautious man, as am I," Orion replied slowly, "but Lucretia hasn't a cautious bone in her body. If she were younger, I think she'd pledge her support. From what I've heard, Lucius, their son, might be getting himself involved in all this dark business."

"Excuse me," a man Narcissa did not know interjected, "but while everyone always seems to be talking about this new Dark Lord, I hardly know anything for sure – I haven't even heard his name. We all know about Grindelwald, but I haven't heard so much as a whisper of solid, substantiated fact about this new one."

There was a moment's deadly silence, and then Orion Black replied, "It isn't wise to speak his name from what I've head, Yaxley. I know it's superstitious, but – well, it's Old Magic, the importance of a name, and I think this new Dark Lord has something special about his own title. I'll tell you what he calls himself – I don't know his true name – but you oughtn't repeat it. He calls himself Lord Voldemort."

Narcissa felt a shiver run down her spine inexplicably. She'd never even heard the name before – knew only the barest rumors of this new Dark Lord – but it made her afraid nevertheless.

Then, before she could hear any more of the conversation, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and Lucius's voice.

"There you are! I've been looking for you. What are you doing here?"

Narcissa laughed softly, but put a finger to her lips until they were away from her father and his friends. "I was eavesdropping," Narcissa admitted. "They were talking about this new Dark Lord. Do you know, I only just found out his name!"

Lucius's smiling face became suddenly more somber. "It isn't wise to speak it, Narcissa. I know you're young, still, and don't know much about these things, but there are dark times coming. I think that it will be for the best, in the long run, but I don't want you getting mixed up in it if you can help it. Things are going to get dangerous, and I worry that – I just don't want anyone to get hurt, you least of all. Everybody's running scared, even my family."

"Do you know something about him?" Narcissa asked, curiously.

"Only a little," Lucius admitted. "But I want to know more. My father is – well, he doesn't dare find out anything, for fear of tainting the family name, but I think the Malfoy family honor would be improved if for once we showed a little of our old courage. I want to find this man, Narcissa, this wizard who has put such silent terror into the Ministry, and I want to –" But he stopped, looking chagrined. "This is no talk for a party!"

"No, I think you're right," Narcissa said. She hadn't liked being called too young to know. She was almost fifteen, and not some child anymore – and after the Malfoy heir's flattering attention all evening, she was feeling unusually self-confidant. "I think you have to take a stance. Those men back there, my father's friends, are old and cautious. They don't dare do anything, don't dare even stand up for what they believe in. If you're brave enough to do something, well, I'll stand behind you!"

Lucius stopped their walk, and smiled at her, his eyes kind and his handsome face genuinely pleased. "I would be proud to have you at my side, Narcissa."

Paused in the shade of a tall elm, hidden from the sight of the other party guests, Narcissa looked deeply into Lucius Malfoy's grey eyes. She was very aware of everything at that minute – the chittering of fairies in the elm tree, the breeze coming up the slope, how naked she felt in these beautiful dress robes, cut so much lower than her normal Hogwarts uniform. "May I ask you something, Lucius?"

"Of course."

"I do not mean to be rude but – you have never paid me very much attention, yet tonight not only have you danced with me far more than propriety would demand, you left your guests to find me. Why?"

Lucius did not speak for a long moment, and Narcissa was afraid that she had offended him after all. Then he said, softly, "It is very hard to explain, but – well, this party was not for me, for all that it is about me. It's so that my parents can show off their wealth, and flaunt their power and influence. It's crass, but we are wealthy enough, and powerful enough, that people are bringing their daughters here in the hopes that my parents will begin to look for a suitable wife, now that I am of age, in the hopes that I will take a fancy to some daughter of a noble House.

"You saw Cornelia Lestrange, and Giovanna Montague – neither of them like me in the slightest, believe me, but their parents simply adore my surname, so of course they have primped and prepared all day so that they can make eyes at me across the dance floor. You've been the only one all evening to make decent conversation, the only one not to practically fling yourself at me."

He stopped again, and there was a fierce intensity in his face. Narcissa was reminded that for all his large and gentle hands, he had a name as a duelist at Hogwarts, and the way all the first years avoided him in the common room when he was in a temper.

"Take Cornelia Lestrange – I'm only just seventeen, to her I'm practically a child – she was the Head Girl when I started Hogwarts! And yet, her family have fallen on economic hard times with the rumors of war again and nobody wanting to invest in English trade, so they're going to try to sell off their daughters, practically. It's not as if this were the middle ages, either – for all that we have maintained our traditions, this is the twentieth century, and men don't use their daughters as – as galleons anymore! I know for a fact that Cornelia Lestrange is in love with Perseus Macmillan, she loves him, Narcissa, but here she is, trying to flirt with me, practically shoving her –"

He was furious, and Narcissa rather thought it was more than the flattering attentions of a beautiful older woman, but she did not ask. That was not what he needed at the moment. Instinctively, for Narcissa felt intuitively what this proud young man wanted from her, she reached up with her small, pale hands and stilled the trembling in his shoulders. He looked deep into her eyes again, and smiled softly, now calm.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let my temper run away with me. I shouldn't be spoiling _your_ evening just because I'm out of sorts."

"I'm only fourteen, and maybe I don't know very much," Narcissa said, though at the moment she felt like a very old fourteen, with Lucius Malfoy so close. She could smell his sweet musk of perfume and sweat, and thought she could see a freckle on his nose. "I – I couldn't be like Cornelia Lestrange. She's beautiful, and I – well, I must be like a child to you; I certainly am to the other men here, like your friend Rabastan. I'm sure my mother would love it if I were to – to make eyes at you, but I'm not like Cornelia. I couldn't make myself do that.

"Oh, that came out all wrong! It's not that I don't like you – really and truly, Lucius, this has been such a wonderful evening, and I'm so terribly flattered. It's just that I don't have the courage to flirt and prance like the other girls. I like you a very great deal, Lucius, and that's all I can offer – not beauty, or witty conversation, or even much money. I'm the youngest daughter of the lesser Blacks."

Lucius reached out to take Narcissa's chin within his large hands. "That's why I like you," he said softly. "Because you're honest, and because you haven't lied to me once all night."

And then, in the shadow of the great elm, they kissed, softly, and broke apart, softly.

"Will you wait for me?" Narcissa asked quietly. "To come of age? I will be old enough soon; three years is not so long, is it?"

"I would wait twenty for you, Narcissa," Lucius said softly.

Then, together, they walked up the sloping lawn, and danced, together, the whole night long.


	3. The JailCell Queen

**The Jail-Cell Queen - Bellatrix**

Bellatrix Black leaned over the table separating her from a stocky Auror, a smile playing about her lips, making sure that her exposed bosom was directly in his line of sight.

"Come now, sir," she purred. "You seem like a sensible man. Can't you just make all this unpleasantness… go away?"

The Auror could not help but glance at her chest, and he colored visibly, to Bellatrix's pleasure, but when he tore his gaze away, his eyes were harder than before, and he looked displeased. "Miss Black, I am afraid that you are too deeply involved in so much … unpleasantness over the past few months that even were I to want to, I could not make your troubles disappear. Please sit down."

Bellatrix pursed her lips. The man was an absolute rock. She had tried, less and less subtly, to influence him since he'd picked her up from a pub down in Knockturn Alley, but aside from a few appreciative glances, he had resisted her entirely.

She changed tack. "I've done nothing illegal this summer. I've merely expressed my opinions – I admit, rather vocally – in public places. If people have overreacted, it's hardly my fault."

The auror was unimpressed. "I'm afraid that their overreactions were the causes of several riots. You're quite the hate-monger, Miss Black. The auror office is quite interested in you and your … motivations. Those of your persuasion have been far more vocal of late, and the violence it has provoked is worrying to the Ministry and the larger Wizarding community."

"Sir – might I inquire of your name? – I merely speak the truth to a community that has been stupefied, in recent years, by continuing pro-muggle propaganda. I seek to enlighten my peers, not cause any violence. Some who listen to me believe so fervently they can be rash, but I assure you the last thing I want to cause is any instability."

The auror stared at her, his face not revealing anything. His eyes were hard as flint, and his lined, scarred face remained implacable. Finally, he grunted, "Moody. Tell me, Miss Black, from whom are you receiving your instructions? Your little pep-talks are obviously coordinated with the other signs of unrest throughout Britain."

Bellatrix drummed her red fingernails on the table, trying to mask her frustration. The man wasn't going to budge an inch, and he certainly didn't buy her innocent routine. "I coordinate with no one. I think you're seeing conspiracies, Mr. Moody – just because the wizarding community has finally awoken to the dire consequences of blood dilution doesn't mean there's anything more behind it than the truth."

"A riot in front of Gringotts in late June," Moody said, ticking off points on his fingers. "A brawl fight in Knockturn alley in early July. An assault on an Auror in Kent and on a Muggleborn in Bath. All after a young woman answering to your description gave a speech about blood purity and the failings of the Ministry. Only tonight you had the bad luck to give your spiel in front of an auror who'd been following these incidents." He ended with a self-satisfied smirk.

Bellatrix wanted to scratch the smugness of his face, but she contained the anger, and bottled it away. She'd deal him back double what she took tonight, but later. Later.

"I was unaware that it was illegal for me to sample the nightlife of wizarding Britain!" Bellatrix said, careful to keep her indignation under control. She was angry and indignant, yes, though not for the reasons stated – but she could still funnel that emotion. "I have stayed to have a drink or two with my compatriots in the wizarding world, and we've engaged in friendly conversation over a beer or two – hardly something the Ministry needs to crack down on!"

The auror, Moody, stared at her. "Don't play games with me, Miss Black. You have been inciting anti-Ministry riots. You know it, I know it, and I intend the entire Wizarding World to know it, too. I could charge you with inciting violence against the Ministry – up to twelve years in Azkaban – or of using the Unforgivables – a life sentence! I have no proof of _that_, Miss Black, but I know what you've done it before."

Bellatrix felt fury rising up in her again. How dare he threaten her! How dare he? She, a daughter of the Blacks, a pureblood witch of impeccable breeding and background – and simply for speaking publicly? He couldn't know about what she'd done at the Gringotts riot – she'd have recognized him – and she had let the crowds do her dirty work at the other rallies…

Time to change tack again.

"Mr. Moody," Bellatrix said, "You can't believe all the rubbish the Ministry of Magic forces upon its employees. You're an auror, the best of the best, and hardly one to take the Ministry's hypocrisy at face value. Your business is tracking down criminals – not hauling in women for expressing opinions contrary to the Ministry. I know Minister Bagnold has become more and more arrogant of late, with her constant crackdowns on the old traditions, but surely – _surely_ – you are not willing to side with the Ministry to the point of chaos in the wizarding world?"

Bellatrix thought she saw his face flicker for a moment, thought she saw a hint of interest in those implacable black eyes, and pressed on eagerly. "The Ministry is leading our world to destruction, Mr. Moody. They have let the old customs fall by the wayside – and have even begun to forbid some! – and in the place of the wizarding tradition that has kept us strong, they have substituted a growing tolerance for incursions from the Muggle world. Our blood is dilute – mingling and intermarriage with muggles and mud- muggleborns has drained away wizarding vitality. We're a proud people, a proud race, and yet we now hide our glories and our powers as if they were shameful secrets rather than our birthright."

Moody didn't tell her to stop, but Bellatrix paused momentarily, unsure. He was listening, intently, in fact, but the glint in his eye did not look altogether friendly. She couldn't tell whether she was convincing him, and if she played her cards wrong… well.

"Sir," Bellatrix said, placing both of her hands on the table, leaning forwards slightly, the picture of youthful intensity. "I do not wish for the dissolution of the Ministry. I do not wish for chaos, or disruption. I wish for a wizarding world that is strong! A world where we can raise our children with honor and open pride. I want a world where witches and wizards use the powers endowed on them as their birthright, without kowtowing to the needs of muggles and – well, there is no other word – and mudbloods!"

The auror smiled for the first time that whole hellish evening, clasping his hands behind his head and tilting back his chair. He fixed Bellatrix with an amused gaze, and said, "Sorry, _missy_. You missed out on this one. My father's a muggle." He laughed.

The rage Bellatrix had been so tightly suppressing bubbled up to the surface. How dare he – how _dare_ he laugh at her! Him, the son of a dog and a bloodtraitor, not worthy to look her in the face – and here he sat, laughing at a Black!

Some of that anger must have shown on her face, for Moody chuckled again and said, "Calm yourself, Miss Black. I wouldn't want you to do anything rash because your usual rabble-rousing failed."

"How dare you? How dare you! I am Bellatrix Black, daughter of Orion Black, and if you think I'll tolerate your cheek –"

"Are you threatening me?" Moody said, and he had the gall to sound mildly amused.

Bellatrix stood, her robes billowing around her as she strode towards the door. To her fury, it was locked.

"Release me!"

Moody stood, his hand drifting towards the leather sheath that held his wand. Bellatrix sorely regretted having handed her wand over, but at the time she had assumed she would soon be free. She had underestimated this auror's nerve.

"You are going nowhere, Miss Black, certainly not tonight."

"If you think," Bellatrix said, her voice high and angry, "that you, or anyone in your pathetic Ministry can long hold me against my will, you are more of a fool than you look."

He just laughed.

There was blood rushing in her ears, its pumping drumbeat drowning out all other sounds – rage was like a drug with her, blotting out coherent thought and leaving only a white, fiery stillness in her mind. She did not speak, but simply stood, darkly, and stared at the upstart auror in front of her, as he laughed.

Had she a wand, she would have cast the Cruciatus; she was tempted to attack him physically, to score his already scarred face with her fingernails, but present in her mind, despite the fury, was the knowledge that her Master would not be pleased if she were to lose control entirely. He always cautioned prudence….

And she was back to herself, though her chest still heaved with anger, though her cheeks were still flushed with high color; the presence of her Master in her mind had cleared away the blind rage.

"You will not let me go. With what do you intend to charge me? On what grounds do you hold me here against my will? My family's solicitor will free me forthwith, I have no doubt, but it would amuse me to hear your pathetic pretext for this injustice."

"I don't actually have to tell you, you know," Moody said. "New Ministry laws passed by the Wizengamot only two days ago, authorizing detention of dark wizards or witches for unspecified periods of time. I could hold you for years before even charging you with a crime. I'm under no obligation to inform you – or even to let your solicitor see you in your cell."

"Liar!" Bellatrix spat, but she felt a touch of fear in her heart. Cell?

"I'm not a liar, no," Moody replied. He was lounging in his chair, utterly at ease; the office was small, and without her wand, Bellatrix could not burst through the warded door. She had been a fool to surrender it….

"I do not wish to remain in your presence," Bellatrix said, imperious as a queen. "Take me to my cell!" If she were to be held against her will, at least she could dictate the terms of her imprisonment.

"As you wish," the auror said, getting to his feet. He was not tall, but he was thickset and strong, with a square face that bespoke determination. Scarred and battered at well under forty, he carried himself like a veteran of sixty years. With a flick of his wand, he summoned chains around Bellatrix's wrists.

She wanted to scream with the indignity – she had no intention of escaping, as she knew she'd be freed by legal means before long, and wished to retain her identity as a presumably law-abiding citizen as long as possible. The chains were simply to humiliate her.

The auror escorted her from his office – he merited one entirely to himself, instead of one of the busy cubicles so many of the others seemed to use – and down winding stairs, ever lower into the Ministry. There had been talk of replacing the stairs with lifts, but traditionalist elements still clung to the old trappings of wizarding architecture.

The torches cast a flickering half-light in the lowest levels where, Bellatrix knew, the old courtrooms hosted the Wizengamot; and beyond the courtrooms, the holding cells used for prisoners not yet in Azkaban.

There was a stench of fear about the place, in the dark, deep below; dank earth, sour sweat, and oppression were etched into the very stone walls.

Moody took her to the very end of the long row of cells, past an array of petty criminals and thieves who stared at her as she walked imperially past them.

"It even has a pretty spelled window for you, so you don't get scared of the dark," Moody said, sneering. "Good night, your Majesty."

He slammed the iron doors in her face, and spelled them shut. Bellatrix followed him with her eyes, his footsteps echoing back to her as he strode away.

Moody was right – the spelled window did banish the dark, with a perpetual view of a gibbous moon. It was a waxy yellow, like a silver sickle seen from under a film of oil – as if everything in this prison, even the view of the world outside, was filthy and contaminated.

When all was silent again, and the prisoners were utterly alone but for their bewitched chains, one of the ragged men in a cell adjacent to Bellatrix spoke. He was young, little older than Bellatrix herself, but he was ragged and coarsely bred – pureblood, perhaps, but without any nobility.

Bellatrix found herself repressing a sneer as he asked, "Well? What are you here for? That wasn't no hitwizard who brought you in, neither, that was a bloody auror."

"I am here for defiance," Bellatrix said in ringing tones. She was as a queen in chains, and in the now respectful silence of the other prisoners, she felt her energy and passion return. She might be able to turn this situation to her advantage – perhaps, among this assorted riffraff, there would be one or two worthy enough to serve her Master.

"What's that mean?" said the young man, his dark eyes fixed on her curiously. "Stirring up trouble, like?"

Bellatrix met his eyes, staring directly at him until he looked away. "I am here for speaking truth where before there were only lies. I am a daughter of the House of Black," and she heard respectful murmurs throughout the prison row, "and I am here because the _Ministry_ could not stomach any resistance to its foolish, even treacherous policies."

"You're one of them, aren't you? The ones who follow this new –" The young man stopped, looking worried. "Best not to speak of it here, there's dark rumors and you don't want to be talking where there's others to hear."

Raising her voice so that she was sure all could hear her and oblivious to the young man's cringing, Bellatrix declared, "You are correct, for all your cowardice. I serve the Dark Lord. My Master is greater than any who have come before, and none shall come after him, for his power shall be eternal. The Ministry placed me in this cell, and chained me in the darkness, because they are too afraid to hear the truth, too proud to bow to His will, and too befouled by muggles and trash to allow the purification of the Wizard Race!"

A new voice spoke up, surly and cautious. "You're jes' making trouble for the rest of us. Was like this wi' Grindelwald, and it'll be like it again – th' Ministry'll crack down hard on those of us as are jes' trying to make a living as best we can and you _revolutionaries_'ll do jes' fine. I'm not taken in by you, and not by any of them, either!" He spat, noisily.

Bellatrix new this sort of man – angry, hostile, cautious, but a furious soldier if brought into a passion. This was, after all, what she was good at. "Would you rather have the Ministry? The Ministry which forbids the old ways, and drives honest wizards out of business by hiring the worst sort of mudblood filth over the sons of the old families? Wizards, listen to me!" She paused for a moment to let her clarion words ring in the darkness.

"I know I am young. My life, compared to your lives, has been easy. I know I cannot begin to comprehend all that you have seen and done. But I know this: as long as the Ministry of Magic stands, there will be no justice for men like you, or for women like me. The Ministry is content to let the sons of the Wizarding race rot in prison, or in the back alleyways of our towns and markets. My Master promises more: he is a Dark Lord, and he dispenses dark justice. When he is victorious, he will break the chains of oppression that tie down wizards such as yourselves: he will herald in a new age where honest work will be met with honest rewards, where the Old Ways will be honored and revered, not stamped out. When I look into your eyes, I see men driven only to dishonesty by hard times, men who, if they lived under the rule of a fair and noble Lord, would prosper, and bring honor to their family names.

"Tonight I was brought to this foul prison by an auror of the Ministry for Magic – halfblood filth unworthy to grasp the wand with which he chained me – for spreading the truth among other wizards like yourselves. Those wizards were still free, still relatively unharmed by the tyrannical Ministry for Mudbloods and Muggles, but if we allow the Ministry's despotism to continue, soon all Wizards, even those of the greatest and most ancient Houses, will be forced to bow to the will of bloodtraitors and mudbloods. After all, I am a daughter of the House of Black, and here I stand, jailed and chained as if I were not born to the highest nobility known to man – to a legacy of pureblood wizardry extending back for millennia."

She paused, and peered through the darkness at the listening prisoners. Were she not chained by spelled iron, she would have conjured light – she hardly needed her wand for the more trivial spells, after her Master's tutelage – but iron dampened magic, and the chains kept her powers in check.

The young man who had spoken first replied slowly, "I think what you say may be true, but don't you see that it's easier for us just to go along with the Ministry. I'm here for selling lycanths, as are Class C nontradable goods," and he spoke the official term with the ease of one long accustomed to hearing it, though it jarred with his more colloquial speech. "And you know, I'm no happier than any to be here, but they'll just keep me here for two weeks and maybe put a monitoring spell on me so as I don't do it again. They won't send me to Azkaban, I'll just have to live careful for a few months until they forget about me. But if I join with you, and with your Dark Lord, they'll stop forgetting about me real fast, and the next time they catch me they'll send me to Azkaban. Maybe you can get out of here, but I'm no Black. I'm just a poor wizard trying to make his way, see? There's nobody to plead my cause, and no gold to pay the Wizengamot to look the other way for me. And I think most everybody here is like me – we don't love the Ministry, Merlin knows, but if we start making trouble it'll all be the worse for us."

There were murmurs of assent. Bellatrix studied the scruffy youth carefully. She knew she was making headway – he was sympathetic to what she was saying, she could tell – but he was complacent, cautious. Not cowardly, she thought; he could be stirred to action if she prompted him hard enough; but he was unwilling to take a chance without any guarantee of protection or safety. That caution was not in Bellatrix's blood, but in her past few months of spreading her Master's word, she had met many cautious men like these.

"You are afraid that if you should stand and fight with me, and with my Master, you will be punished in our stead," Bellatrix said, softly, and saw the young man flush in recognition of the truth. "Take heart, wizard. My Master protects his servants, rewards the faithful, and avenges the fallen. His might is so great the Ministry will crumble before him, inevitably. If you are to join him now, the Ministry will simply fall all the faster, and he will reward you greatly for your aid once he is risen and mighty. Even now, his servants are spreading throughout Britain, and throughout all the world, expanding his influence and power. Should you, or any of his followers, be captured by Ministry dogs, he will free you. He will not leave his loyal servants to rot in jail. I cannot offer proof now, simply my word – my word as a daughter of the House of Black, as a pureblood witch, and as a servant to the Dark Lord."

She stopped her speech again, and this time there were no replies. More gently, even apologetically, Bellatrix said, "I am sorry. I would speak more, I would answer all your questions and show you the true power of my Master, but I am tired, and hoarse. The Ministry's trained brutes have not treated me quietly, and I am in need of rest."

She fell silent for a final time, and there was no more speech in the prison row. There was only the light of a waxy yellow moon through the bespelled, and the soft sound of breathing from those prisoners sleeping – and those still awake.

Bellatrix did not sit, or crouch in a corner like some of the other prisoners. She would not bring herself to huddle like an animal in the Ministry's prison. Instead, she stood, imperious as a queen, for hours, kept company only by the tainted moonlight.

She thought of her Master. She was not good at resignation, or patience, but she knew she had to learn them. Her Master had said so – had told her, "You must master your rage, Bella. It is good to be angry, but it is better to bottle up your anger and save it until you can use it profitably. Use your anger; don't let it use you."

She smiled at the thought. That had been the day she had dedicated herself, body and soul, to her Master. She had fled Hogsmeade during a school excursion, guided by Avery, who had first spoken to her of a new order of witches and wizards who honored the Old Ways and the Dark Magics. They had travelled first by apparition to Avery's house, then by portkey to a range of German mountains she did not know except by name as the Harz, then by broom to a silent lake that breathed of ancient magic, and then by foot, through wood and cave, to a hall carved out of the very Mountain where the Dark Lord, her new Master, watched his servants from a throne of yew.

There had been other recruits, other witches and wizards brought to serve the Dark Lord. Two he had killed – when he looked at them, there had been only shrinking fear in their eyes, and no willingness to serve Him utterly. Three he had inducted without a second glance, searing their skin with his mark and assigning them to other Death Eaters for training and instruction – they were loyal, but insignificant to him. She had stood alone, the last to receive his attentions. When he turned his glance on her, she had curtsied to him so deeply her head touched the floor before standing to meet his eyes; and he had seen the devotion in her soul, her loyalty, her eagerness to serve him.

He had smiled at her. He did not smile often, her Master, only when truly pleased, and to receive such a smile was an honor which few Death Eaters ever received. Bellatrix had known, then, that she would be his most devoted and faithful servant. She was young, she was passionate, she was brave and loyal and strong; and when the inductions were over, and the other Death Eaters dispersed to their duties, he had held her back, and asked for her to walk with him.

Thrilling to his presence, she had accompanied him as he strode with dark purpose to the cold Welsh lake. He had spoken to her, then, of His intents and ambitions, had shared some of what burdened His mind with her. She had longed to speak herself, to renew her vows of eternal devotion, but she had held her peace, and listened. She had never before tempered her will for any man, but her Master was different.

He was not a man. That night, over the lake, her Master had asked her whether she knew the Cruciatus curse. She had told him no, filled with shame that she could not serve him in that manner, but he had smiled at her, again. He had taken her hands between his own, her wand grasped between both their fingers – hers small and finely-boned, his long and white as ice on the mountain lake. Had whispered instruction in her ears as she learned to create pain, to funnel all her rage and anger through her wand and into the torture curse.

He had led her bow to him once more, after her first lesson in his presence, and then he had sent her back to Hogwarts, back to living as a student and suffering under the foolish tutelage of professors without an ounce of the power that flowed within her Master, her greatest teacher.

For hours, Bellatrix dwelled on her Master, wakefully dreaming of the Dark Lord, until it was morning, and the false window in her cell no longer showed the moon.

She stood in meditation until footfalls marred the perfect silence of her cell.

It was the solicitor, Martin Ambrosius Nott, and her father. Orion Black looked tired and angry, and Nott looked as oily and supercilious as ever. Accompanying the two wizards was an irritable-looking Ministry witch wearing an auror's badge, who shot Bellatrix a glare of utter contempt. Bellatrix sneered in return.

"My humblest greetings, Miss Black," Nott said, with a short little bow. "I hope I find you well? I know your stay overnight cannot have been pleasant – most regrettable – but, I hope to your satisfaction, your father and I have achieved your release. The Ministry finds itself unable to charge you with anything substantial, and I am happy to say you are now free to leave this deplorable … cell. I assure you, your father and I intend to inquire how it is possible that the Ministry could allow a girl such as yourself to be detained like a common criminal."

Bellatrix cut her solicitor off with a wave of her hand. "I was proud to share this prison row with these wizards. Any place where men are held for their resistance of an unjust Ministry is as a palace to those who are determined not to suffer the Ministry's oppressions without defiance."

She stared directly at the female auror, then, who had opened her cell door. "Unchain me."

The auror glared at Bellatrix's command, but complied, and Bellatrix could not contain a smirk. "Be so good as to tell your comrade Moody that I shall not forget his trespasses against my person."

Bellatrix smiled as she saw the rage build in the Ministry witch, but the auror could do no more than clench her wand more firmly.

Orion Black had already begun to stride out of the cell row, the solicitor Nott following in his wake, but Bellatrix called them to a halt. "Martin, come back here for a minute, if you would be so kind."

The auror watching her every move, Bellatrix spoke the young man who had questioned her during the night. "I am sorry, but I did not ask your name before."

"I'm Edgar Jugson," he said, scrambling to his feet. In the increased light of day, Bellatrix could see that he was a tall and skinny youth, no older than twenty-five, with a shock of unruly brown hair obscuring his eyes; Bellatrix vaguely recognized his surname as being one of the lesser families, which had fallen on hard times since the 1800s.

Turning to her solicitor, Bellatrix said, "I am convinced that Mr. Jugson is as innocent as I am. I would be very pleased if you would do your utmost to see that his release is secured quickly. Please, Martin, for me?" She gazed at Nott with such pleading entreaty that the normally reserved man softened somewhat. "For you, Miss Black, anything."

Bellatrix turned to smile at Jugson, extending her hand through his cell bars. He kissed it, though he could not grasp it with his hands chained, and Bellatrix smiled at him once again.

Then, advancing to meet her father, she spoke to the auror, imperiously as before, "I shall be expecting a full apology from your superiors at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and, I dare say, from the Minister, too. Bagnold is growing more arrogant if she allows her underlings to put their hands on the daughter of the House of Black!"

Leaving the auror to fume, Bellatrix joined her father, the solicitor staying behind to inquire about Jugson's case. Bellatrix new her father would be unhappy, would question her, interrogate her for hours on what her activities could possibly have entailed that she had been jailed by the Ministry.

Perhaps, she thought, it was time to tell her parents everything. But, looking into Orion's disappointed eyes, she knew she would have to wait. In any case, Rodolphus Lestrange would soon offer her escape to a home outside her parents' control – and Rodolphus, she knew, was a loyal servant to her Master.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Foreshadowing? Foreshadowing? I wouldn't dream of it. ;-)

Chapters may be slow in coming. I wrote both the second and the third chapter in one day (le gasp), but as a student, my time for writing can be limited. I may have another chapter out by New Year's, however.


	4. The Imperfect Prefect

**Author's Notes**: I actually finished this chapter about a week ago, but I've been so busy writing I haven't honestly thought about _posting_ anything once written. I know, I know, I know I'm terrible! This chapter was very difficult to write (see my notes at the end of the chapter) and I'd love some feedback on how well, or badly, you thought I handled the key concept within.

* * *

**Chapter Four: The Imperfect Prefect**

Pausing to straighten the Slytherin Prefect's badge on her new school robes, Narcissa looked out across the bustling platform. The Hogwarts Express was filling with students, who dragged their trunks, pets, friends and siblings into the various compartments; it was, as usual, a raucous and chaotic scene. Narcissa was not fond of chaos, but she was fond of Hogwarts and the school train, so she did not mind the bustle as much as she normally would.

Orion Black had come to the station to see them off, something that was unusual for him; Bellatrix, too, had come, the first year Narcissa could remember when Bellatrix hadn't been heading off to Hogwarts herself. Andromeda had left her parents as soon as they'd all arrived at the platform, gone off to join her Gryffindor friends.

Narcissa felt very alone. Riding the train without Bellatrix for company would be odd – not that Narcissa had much liked being Bella's "younger sister" on the train rides, watching Bella receive the affections of her eager paramours and commanding the lower-form Slytherins like a queen, but it had been company. There was only one other Slytherin girl in Narcissa's year, and they'd never gotten on very well. Train rides would have been very lonely without Bellatrix.

This year, however, was going to be the start of something new, Narcissa determined. She was a prefect, after all, with a beautiful badge and a new set of school robes Ariadne had ordered the night after Lucius's party, in a fit of good humor.

"Well, time to say goodbye," Ariadne said with a slight sniff. She turned to embrace her youngest daughter, but for once Narcissa only suffered her mother's affections, and did not return them as wholeheartedly as she had in years previous. Narcissa was, after all, a young woman now – a young _lady_, she corrected herself. And young ladies did not allow their mothers to fuss over them as if they were five.

"I'll write about the Sorting this week, mother," Narcissa said. "Our cousin Regulus is starting his first year, isn't he?"

"Mmm," Ariadne said in pensive agreement. "Well, off you go, Cissy – you'll miss the train if you're not careful!"

With a final wave toward Bellatrix, who was lounging with almost insolent casualness against the wall, and her father, who stood ramrod straight as always, Narcissa magicked her trunk towards the prefects' compartment, at the front of the train. It was very hard not to turn around to wave at her parents again, but, as Narcissa reminded herself, young ladies of the House of Black had more dignity than to squall like a child when leaving for Hogwarts.

The prefects' compartment, to Narcissa's delight, was an island of order and calm in a sea of chaos. Most of the other prefects had already arrived, sitting by house and year, the seats near the front reserved for the older prefects and the Head Boy and Girl. A friendly Hufflepuff fifth-year, Benjamin Fenwick, tried to help Narcissa with her luggage, but she shrugged him away.

"I can manage without your help, thank you!" she snapped, levitating the trunk onto the luggage rack. He was a muggleborn, too – she couldn't help but shudder in revulsion where he'd touched the bare skin on her hand.

Narcissa sat herself down by Evan Rosier, unsurprisingly her fellow fifth-year prefect for Slytherin. "Did you have a good summer, Evan?" she asked politely.

"Alright," he said, with the same studied casualness Bellatrix always had when she was sitting on some particularly juicy bit of information. "Father took me up to Wales. I met some interesting wizards."

Narcissa didn't ask more; Evan was by nature secretive and supercilious, and if all he wanted to give were tantalizing hints, she wouldn't gratify him by asking more.

"Do you know who's Head Boy?" she asked. She had one particular seventh-year prefect in mind, of course, but he hadn't shown up yet, either.

"No idea," Evan said, "but Head Girl is Dorcas Meadows from Ravenclaw."

"That cow?" Narcissa exclaimed in disgust. "I swear, I think Dumbledore's purposefully making muggleborns prefects over the rest – if Slytherin had any, I wouldn't wonder if he did!"

"What about your sister?" Evan said slyly. "Unless you're saying your mother was a little less than faithful…"

"Oh, shut up about my mother, Evan!" Narcissa snapped, and was pleased to hear that for a moment she'd been nearly as imperious as Bellatrix. She'd have to try that commanding tone more often, now that she was a prefect. "Anyway, Andromeda's such a blood traitor she might as well be a mudblood anyway."

"Here, now, none of that," said a mildly offended voice. Narcissa looked up to meet the eyes of Ted Tonks, the seventh-year prefect for Hufflepuff. Or rather, she noticed with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, the new _Head Boy_.

"I'll talk however I want, Tonks," Narcissa said stiffly.

"No, you won't, or I'll dock points from Slytherin. Given that I'm Head Boy now, I've the perfect right. Do at least try to be civil when in mixed company." He said it all very pleasantly, but it didn't stop Narcissa from bristling.

In a fierce whisper to Evan, Narcissa said, "There, you see? What'd I tell you – both the Head Boy and the Head Girl are muggleborn. It's too much to put up with – and there are far better candidates, too."

"Got anyone in mind?" Evan said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Narcissa wanted to slap him for his impertinence, but before she could do anything the new Heads had begun to speak, and Narcissa realized that as a very junior prefect she'd do well to actually listen.

"Now that we're all settled," Ted Tonks said pleasantly, "To business. For our new prefects, your duties on the train are quite straightforward. As soon as this meeting is over, the fifth year prefects should patrol the compartments, keep an eye on everything. Fifth years, you're responsible for all the firsties. If any of them are scared, confused, lost, help 'em out. This especially goes for the muggleborns, who probably have _no_ idea what's going on or what'll greet them at Hogwarts. Don't give away the surprise about how they're Sorted, though, it's too much fun to see them all scared."

Dorcas Meadows elbowed him hard, and he grinned easily at her before continuing. "Sixth years, same as last year – keep an eye out that none of the magic gets too rowdy. Those who actually obeyed the rules this summer won't have done any magic for a while and will be eager to start again, but we don't want any fully-fledged duels or anything. Make sure none of the older kids are bullying the younger ones, either – I swear, fifth-year kids are always brutal, just because it's their O.W.L. year and they're feeling superior."

Dorcas Meadows then cut in, taking over what had obviously been a well-rehearsed speech. "Seventh year prefects, same sort of stuff as the sixth-years. Keep in touch with your housemates, make sure everyone's cozy. You don't have to be constantly patrolling, though, it's alright to go and sit with your friends as long as you don't see anything too untoward. Even prefects are allowed to have fun."

The older prefects all burst into friendly laughter, clearly recognizing an old joke among the prefects. Much though Narcissa disliked the choices for Head Boy and Girl, it was lovely to be part of an elite group with its own little in-jokes. Soon she'd be up to speed on all the prefect lingo. She found herself smiling at Dorcas and Ted's jokes despite herself, until she noticed that Lucius Malfoy wasn't smiling a bit, which dampened her spirits rather a lot.

Meadows continued, "Once we get to Hogwarts, make sure the second-years get on the carriages alright. Oh, and there might be one or two kids who can see what's drawing the carriages, too – I remember, little Harriet Edgecombe was in tears when she saw the thestrals her second year. Fifth-years, as this is your first official day as prefects, you get all the fun drudgework. You're all in charge of escorting the first-years up to their dormitory for the first time – I've got the list of passwords somewhere in my robes, and _no_, Andromeda, I'm not going to let you have the Slytherin password however much you beg – Head Boy and Girl only."

Andromeda made a face, but it was a friendly sort of grimace, and everyone laughed again, even the other Slytherin prefects – though Lucius Malfoy looked as put out as ever.

"Anyway, make sure all the firsties are tucked in goodnight, and then you can relax. I'll pass out prefect duty rosters with everybody's schedules tomorrow morning, but don't worry too much about it, fifth-years – it'll be only one or two nights a week, and usually it's just patrolling corridors, unless one of the teachers needs help with some assignment. That's a perk of being a prefect – more work, yes, but sometimes a professor will ask for a volunteer for something really interesting. Last year, the new Arithmancy Prof, Vector, asked me to help her catalogue her private library. For those of you not in Ravenclaw, this may sound dreadfully dull, but she's given me access to all her books as a reward, and she has some absolutely _marvellous_ arithmancy texts."

"Okay, everyone," Ted Tonks said, clapping his hands together. "Remember to get up and patrol the corridors every so often, make yourself available for questions and everything; but otherwise, you're free to go and find your friends. Unless anyone has any questions?"

But no-one did. Laughing with an easy camaraderie, the prefects all spilled out of the forward compartment, walking in bands of two or three.

Narcissa waited for Andromeda by the door, but _she_ was waiting for Ted Tonks – and one look from her brown eyes told Narcissa that the older prefect rather wanted to be alone with the new Head Boy. That was alright with Narcissa, though for a moment, when everyone had been laughing, Narcissa had thought she might be able to talk to Andromeda as though they were sisters again, rather than strangers sharing houseroom.

With a sigh, Narcissa headed out of the compartment herself. She honestly didn't know whom to sit with – she didn't have any friends in her year, and while Marlene McKinnon was friendly enough, the older Slytherin girl had plenty of friends in her year. Perhaps she could find Lucius?

With that pleasant thought, Narcissa started toward the back of the train, where the older Slytherins always congregated. The compartments were all busy and full of laughter, though it often stilled when she, a Slytherin prefect – and an unknown quantity, too, as a new prefect – entered. She found two first years a place to sit on the train (some fourth-year Ravenclaws had been absolutely beastly to them), helped a second-year Gryffindor girl with her trunk (how had she passed charms without learning to levitate yet?), and finally emerged into the last compartment on the train.

To her annoyance, it was practically empty – she must have passed Lucius somewhere, though she didn't know how.

The only one in the compartment, in fact – a compartment usually occupied by sixth and seventh-year Slytherins – was a scrawny little boy Narcissa didn't recognize, undoubtedly a first-year. With a sigh, Narcissa decided it would probably be best to wait. Lucius would undoubtedly find his way there eventually.

She sat down on the opposite side of the compartment, and tried to amuse herself by watching the countryside flash past her windows, but she'd made the journey often enough not to be very interested by the scenery.

Finally, tired of trying to pretend she hadn't noticed her sole companion in the compartment, Narcissa said, "I'm Narcissa Black, the new Slytherin prefect. Are you a first-year?"

The boy turned toward Narcissa, obviously nervous. "You're a _prefect_?" he exclaimed. "Wow! Um, I'm Dirk Cresswell. This is my first year, yeah."

"Looking forward to school?" Narcissa inquired, gratified at his awe.

"Oh, yes!" the boy said, turning around to face Narcissa. He was tiny, hardly up to Narcissa's chest, and Narcissa had never been particularly tall.

"I've got all my school books and everything," he continued. "And a wand! Nine inches, elm and phoenix feather. Mr. Ollivander said I'd be good at Defense, but I'm not sure what that means – he said something like Defense Against the Dark Arts. Anyway, I can't wait to get into Hogwarts. I read in this book my parents got me that we all get divided into Houses, and everything. What are the Houses like? I've been reading up on them, but I can't really understand, there's a lot of stuff about the people who started the Houses, but it was really boring so I didn't read very far. Which one are you in again?"

"I'm in Slytherin," Narcissa said. It was quite nice, really, to explain about Hogwarts houses to a first-year – it made her feel very grown-up and responsible. "So of course I'm biased, but really, it's by far the best. Ravenclaw is for the bookish type, they're usually very good with schoolwork, or else they've got some special talent. Gryffindor is alright, I suppose, though I don't get on very well with Gryffindors, most Slytherins don't. Gryffindor is supposed to be for the brave and chivalrous, although really, most Gryffindors aren't very chivalrous – just reckless, if you ask me. Hufflepuff's not any good at all, though – it's supposed to be for the hard-working and fair, but most Hufflepuffs are just there because there's nowhere else for them – they aren't clever or brave or ambitious, so they're 'hard-working', which really means they haven't any other particular talent. Slytherin, my house, is for the ambitious and clever and cunning. Slytherins usually go on to politics or else business, usually someplace powerful. If you want to succeed, Slytherin's the best place."

"Wow!" the boy said again, his eyes as wide as plates. "I dunno where I'll be in, then. I suppose could be clever, but I never did well at school before, I can't concentrate on _anything_, or at least I never could with maths – my mum says it's like I have ants in my pants. I'm not very hard-working either. Do they give a lot of homework here? I don't know if I'm brave or not – how can you tell, do you know? I couldn't sleep a bit after reading _Dracula_, though, but that's supposed to be scary, do you think it counts? Slytherin does sound the best, I hope I'm in it."

Narcissa smiled at him, and repressed the urge to ruffle his hair. He truly was adorable. "Well, you never know. What do your parents do? I've never heard of the Cresswells before."

"Well, my Dad's a doctor," the boy said brightly, "and my Mum works in his office. She was his secretary before they got married."

"Your father's a _doctor_?" Narcissa exclaimed, horrified. "One of those muggle butchers?"

"He's not a butcher!" the boy said, upset. "He helps cure sick people!"

"Merlin, your parents aren't _muggles_, are they?" Narcissa asked. It had just struck her that perhaps the boy hadn't known anything about the Hogwarts houses because his parents had never gone themselves.

"Yeah, they are," Dirk said, still upset. "I never knew about wizards before this summer. Do you mean you don't even know what a doctor does? It's simple, doctors help people get better when they're sick or hurt. My Dad's a GP, he does all sorts of stuff, but some doctors only do surgery or anaesthetics or something."

Narcissa wasn't paying attention to his lecture about muggle healing, however. That she'd been happily chatting to a mudblood without even knowing it disturbed her. It was one thing with half-bloods, who at least knew a little about magic, but a mudblood… and she'd wanted to touch his hair!

"There isn't anything wrong with having muggle parents, is there?" Dirk asked, suddenly unsure. He looked like he was going to cry; his big blue eyes had started to well up with tears.

Narcissa was half-tempted to leave the compartment and the mudblood first-year, but remembered that, as a prefect, she was supposed to explain things to the first year. Undoubtedly Tonks, himself a muggleborn, wouldn't have liked quite _how_ she explained things, but Narcissa felt that she was really being quite charitable to speak to a mudblood at all.

"There's no easy way to say this," Narcissa began. "Dirk – please don't get upset – but wizards and witches who are – are muggleborn, well, they're _accidents_. They're unnatural. The problem with muggleborns is that they just don't _know_ anything about the wizarding world until they get their letter. You needed me to explain about the Houses – a child born into a wizarding family would have known all about the four Houses before they ever set foot on the train."

"But I'll learn!" Dirk said, his eyes welling with tears.

"I'm afraid it's just not that easy," Narcissa said, with the patient air of one explaining something to a frustrated toddler. "You see, muggleborn students will never have the inborn, innate grasp of magic which pureblood students – those students who were born to witches and wizards – have and will always have. It's – magical, I suppose. Muggleborns are more like Muggles than real witches or wizards, because it's just not in their blood. There are some things you just _can't_ learn – you have to be born with the feeling in you."

Dirk was really crying now, not noisily, but there were big, fat tears running down his face. "It's not my fault I'm muggleborn!" he wailed.

Narcissa hadn't the faintest idea what to do. It was all very well to know that muggleborns weren't the same, could never be the same, but another thing entirely to tell some poor child – no, some mudblood child – that he was a freak of nature who ought never to have been born.

"No, I suppose it isn't," Narcissa said slowly, "but you see, a lot of pureblood witches and wizards like myself are faced with this really difficult problem about what to do about muggleborns. If all muggleborn wizards were just to realize that they could never be the same as purebloods – were just to stay out of Wizarding Society altogether, and live like muggles – it wouldn't be a problem. But a long time ago, far before I was born, wizards began inviting muggleborns to live like purebloods – to go to Hogwarts, and to get jobs in the Wizarding world – and it's caused nothing but trouble.

"Some muggleborns wanted to tell wizards all about our world, and you see, if muggles were ever to find out who and what wizards really are, they'd destroy us! Muggles just don't understand, can't ever understand. They used to burn us, to kill us! They still would, too – Wizards never made guns or bombs or any such horrible thing. Wizards didn't make the muggle wars happen in the 1940s, but we still got killed. Wizards can't _ever_ trust muggles, but muggleborns don't understand, and they're dangerous."

Narcissa spoke with great vehemency, echoing everything she'd ever heard at home or at her Aunt and Uncle's home. Whenever she thought about muggles, Narcissa couldn't suppress a gut reaction of nausea and loathing, and a little fear. Some of her ancestors and ancestresses had been killed by muggles during the dark days of the middle ages and what the muggles called the Renaissance. Narcissa knew never to go into the muggle world without her wand – it was just too dangerous. You never knew what a muggle might do to you.

The boy, Dirk, was still sobbing. "But I won't do any of those things! I promise, I'll never tell any of my old friends about Hogwarts, or magic, or any of it. Why can't I be a wizard just like all the others?"

"But your parents know, don't they, and they're muggles," Narcissa said, reasonably.

"But my Dad wouldn't tell anyone, nor my Mum. Nobody'd believe them if they did."

"But they're still muggles who would know, wouldn't they? I'll bet once you've finished Hogwarts, they'll always be after you to do magic for them. Muggles think that if you're magical, you can fix all of their problems with the wave of a wand."

"But it must be so easy if you're a wizard!" Dirk said vehemently. "I bet – I bet if my Dad could do magic, he could make anyone better, easy. He could just say a spell and their bones would be better or they wouldn't have arthritis anymore."

"And that's why you're not as good as a pureblood!" Narcissa said passionately. "You think that magic's easy, but it's not. It's hard, it takes work – it's not just a wave of your wand, it's years and years of hard work, and magic isn't a solution to everything just if you want it to be. You don't understand. How could you?"

Dirk began to cry again, curling up in his seat and burying his face in the black robes Narcissa realized he'd probably never worn before. For some reason, she felt like crying, too. It just wasn't fair, she thought, that she had to be the one to do all the explaining.

Then, unexpectedly, she was rescued. Narcissa had forgotten completely the reason she'd been waiting in the back compartment with only a mudblood boy for company; when Lucius Malfoy, with a very ugly look on his handsome face stalked into the compartment, trailed by Rabastan Lestrange, Narcissa jumped to her feet with a happy laugh.

"There you are!" she said delightedly. "I've been waiting, I couldn't find you when we were all supposed to be patrolling the train."

"Marlene McKinnon decided to give me a lecture on how I had to obey Ted Tonks now that he was Head Boy, even though he's a filthy mudblood. God, sometimes I can hardly believe that woman's a Slytherin at all. You'd think she were a muggleborn herself."

"Ugh," Narcissa said, wrinkling her nose as if she could smell something disgusting. "She's usually alright, but she gets like that from time to time. Her parents are really liberal, too, or so my father says."

"I don't know why we're worrying about muggleborns," Lucius said with a sigh, sitting down next to Narcissa. "I haven't seen you in ages – your letters were marvellous, but it's much nicer being back with you again." He kissed her on the cheek, and Narcissa positively glowed with happiness."

Rabastan, who'd made a face at the kiss, suddenly said, "Hey, who's the kid? What's he doing in our compartment?"

Narcissa had an uncomfortable feeling in her gut as she said, slowly, "He's a first year, he says his name is Dirk Cresswell."

"Yeah? Well, kid, this compartment's for Slytherins, only, and until you're sorted to our table, you can get out."

"Don't say, 'yeah', Rabastan, it's common," Narcissa said peevishly.

"Oh, shut it, Narcissa, you're almost as bad as Bellatrix," the Lestrange boy said bad-temperedly.

Dirk, meanwhile, had gotten to his feet and was struggling to get his trunk down. To Narcissa, he said, "I'm – I'm sorry if I was in your compartment, I didn't know. I guess that's something I'd know if I weren't a muggleborn, too."

"Wait, the kid's a _mudblood_?" Rabastan said, as if it were the best thing he'd heard all day.

"Yes, and leave him alone," Narcissa said, a touch more annoyed. "I've already had to explain to him about it, that's why he was crying."

Looking positively terrified, the boy said to Lucius – perhaps thinking him less dangerous than Rabastan – "Can – can you help me with my trunk? I can't g-get at it, I'm t-too short." His nose was running, and he wiped it on the sleeve of his robe.

With a sneer of obvious disgust, Lucius drew out his wand and levitated the trunk out of the rack, until it was directly above the boy. With a smirk, he ended the spell, and let it drop directly on the boy, knocking him over. Rabastan laughed, noisily.

Narcissa wanted to disappear. The boy picked himself up, slowly, and managed to pick up his obviously heavy trunk.

"G-goodbye, Narcissa," he managed, before opening the door to the compartment.

"That's Miss Black to you!" Lucius said with a snarl, moving to his feet. Narcissa grabbed at his arm, and he sat down, slowly.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Miss Black. I'll g-go, now." Crying as if he thought his heart would break, Dirk Cresswell left.

"Filthy little snivelling mudblood," Rabastan said, and he spat, noisily, on the floor.

Lucius was looking at Narcissa, who couldn't help but begin to cry herself.

"Are you alright, Cissy?" he said quietly, wiping a tear of her face with his thumb.

Narcissa nodded, jerking her head firmly. "I – I'm being silly. It's just, when I came in here, I didn't know he was a muggleborn! He asked me questions about Hogwarts, and I was just being helpful like I'm supposed to be now that I'm a prefect, and then I realized he was muggleborn. I thought he was normal, too, just like any other first year. I had a conversation with him!"

"They ought to make mudbloods wear badges or something, so you know what they are!" Rabastan exclaimed vehemently.

"Oh, I _know_," Narcissa said, her tears subsiding. "It was so horrible. I'd almost touched him, and he was a mudblood and everything. He seemed so sweet at first, but then I had to explain to him about why muggleborns are different, and he started crying. It was so awful, it made me feel so bad, and I didn't even do anything wrong!"

Lucius put his arm around her and squeezed her gently, and Narcissa relaxed against his chest. "There, all better now," he said softly, and kissed her gently on the cheek again. "We'll be alright now? He's gone, thank Merlin, so we won't have to deal with him again. God, I'm so tired about worrying about mudbloods – first Tonks, and now this. Let's think about something more cheerful, alright?"

"Alright," Narcissa said, taking a deep, shuddering breath and smiling awkwardly. "Goodness. Let's pretend you've just walked in the door, and are now going to say to me, 'Hello, Miss Black. I've missed you so terribly over the summer!'"

"Hello, Miss Black," Lucius said. "I've missed you so terribly over the summer."

The rest of the train ride passed happily enough, Narcissa and Lucius chatting happily with each other and making up for lost time. Rabastan was clearly irritated that his best friend was ignoring him for some chit of a girl, but Narcissa ignored him – and, to her delight, so did Lucius.

Once at Hogwarts, Narcissa remembered she was supposed to be helping the second years find the carriages to take them to Hogwarts. After aiding a tiny Hufflepuff girl get inside and out of the now stormy weather, she found Lucius and Rabastan again, along with Marlene McKinnon, who didn't look at Lucius once, and the two sixth-year Slytherin prefects.

The Sorting and Feast were as ever. Dumbledore was his usual, unusual self. Narcissa had never been able to make herself dislike him as much as she knew she ought, as a member of Slytherin House; she loved Hogwarts, and Dumbledore was as much a part of Hogwarts as the moving staircases or Peeves the Poltergeist.

Almost the first child to be sorted, Narcissa noticed with a sickening jolt to her stomach, was Dirk Cresswell, the boy from the train. He looked less miserable, but his face was still grimy from tears. The hat sat on his head a long minute before crying out a happy, "RAVENCLAW!" He scurried over to their table, where Dorcas Meadowes motioned him to a seat by her.

The rest of the evening went marvelously, as far as Narcissa was concerned. Nine new Slytherins were sorted, including an absolutely precious girl with long black plaits who told Narcissa, in perfect seriousness, that she wanted to be a dragon-tamer. Narcissa relaxed into her new role of being a prefect, and realized that she adored people looking up to her. She was the only Black sister in Slytherin, now, a powerful and impressive member of the fine old House's pantheon of purebloods, and the younger ones instinctively looked to her for guidance, for an example. She would not let them down.

When the feast was over, Narcissa collected the first years with Evan Rosier. Evan insisted on taking the lead, like the male he was, but Narcissa was just as happy to shepherd from behind. She was feeling unusually maternal, and couldn't help but straighten the cloak fixed rather haphazardly over one boy's shoulder, or smooth down the hair of an exhausted little girl.

The Ravenclaw prefects were doing much the same; Narcissa waved to Hestia Jones as she passed, and received a wink back from the friendly girl. As Narcissa passed, she received a distinctly less friendly greeting from one of the new Ravenclaw boys, however.

"I hate you!" Dirk shouted, attracting attention from some of the older students passing by. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! The Head Girl, she told me what the truth is about muggleborns! You're a liar, a filthy liar, and I hope you go and drop dead! I never want to see you again!" He rushed off to rejoin the Ravenclaws, Hestia Jones taking him into her arms and glaring suspiciously back at Narcissa.

Everyone in the Great Hall stared at Narcissa for a long moment. Even Evan, normally so obnoxiously cool, looked disconcerted; and Narcissa's first years looked horrified.

As Dirk Cresswell disappeared up a staircase, Narcissa broke down and cried.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Wow, but this chapter was hard to write. At one point, I felt so bad for Dirk Cresswell I began getting all teary - the poor kid!

I felt bad for Narcissa, too, however, and that's a rather more difficult thing. How much should we blame Narcissa for her bigotry? She was raised to believe certain things about those of muggle parentage. I think it's likely much the same as ingrained anti-semitism: in certain times and places in the Western world's development, it has been perfectly acceptable to hate Jews. Children were brought up to think less of their Jewish peers, even to hate and despise them. Note Rabastan's comment after Dirk leaves the compartment - he hates muggleborn students so much, he wishes there was a way for him to identify, on sight, children of mgugleborn parentage so that he could avoid them. Narcissa agrees.

The hardest part of writing this chapter was trying to write, from Narcissa's point of view, a seemingly logical explanation for the hatred of muggleborns. WHY would people think them intrinsically lesser? As Hermione proves, they're certainly not less magically gifted as a group. The explanation, I think, stems from the fact that Wizarding Society has a long memory. The Irish, as a people, have not forgotten the crimes of Cromwell. Likewise, I think it will take far longer than half a millenium for the Wizarding World - or, at least, parts of it - to forget witchhunting and muggle hatred for anythign magical. The systematic persecution of witches and wizards from about 1400 to 1600 - both in JKR's universe and, to some extent, in the real world - is something that would leave emotional scars on a society.

Does this justify Narcissa's bigotry? Of course not. It merely explains the bias.

So, er, whaddidyathink?


	5. Ties That Bind

**Author's Notes:** This chapter was also hard to write, because I kinda had to depart from the "write what you know" mantra to move the plot. Aside from that, I quite like this chapter, and the one that will follow, because it harkens back to one of the early themes of the story, and one of the most persistent themes: what powers do blood ties have over individuals? When are family bonds strong, and when are they weak? When must blood necessarily be thicker than water? And when - when - must the ties of blood be broken?

* * *

**Chapter Five: Ties that Bind**

Andromeda did her prefects' rounds by rote. She'd been assigned this particular patrol back in her fifth year, and by some odd combination of luck and skill, she'd never been switched to a different duty. It was simple – a loop around Gryffindor Tower. Start at the tower, take a left, head down a flight of stairs, cross through the upper library into the Charms corridor, up a staircase, take a left, and back down the corridor to the Tower again.

Her territory. Her turf.

She would go up and down these corridors for two hours tonight, from curfew until even seventh-year prefects were allowed to rest and let Filch take over. There would be no-one and nothing to disturb her; the first years were very well-behaved this year, Sirius Black was sick and his little friend, Lupin, was in the hospital wing _again_, and nobody else ever bothered sneaking around at night, anyway, not on Thursday evenings, when it was so much more fun and profitable to be a nuisance on Saturday night.

Simple. Easy.

Andromeda wished, once again, that she had company. Gideon Prewett had used to accompany her, but Thursday night was counted as so quiet and unlikely to be bothersome that the powers that were – namely, Dorcas Meadowes with her infernal timetables – had decided that Andromeda was a big girl now and didn't need a partner. Andromeda loved Dorcas, but the girl was too obsessed with working out perfect little schedules in perfect little boxes so everyone would have a perfect duty roster of perfectly equal times on prefect's duty.

Dorcas the perfect prefect. Well, Head Girl, but everyone had known that was going to happen. Andromeda had never been competition; for one thing, she was a Black – and Dumbledore had little, unspoken biases against the Blacks, even if Andromeda wasn't in Slytherin. More pertinently, however, Andromeda simply wasn't a very good prefect. Oh, she did her duties, but she did them perfunctorily – she didn't give a damn about rules, really, especially not stupid ones, and so her enthusiasm for enforcing them had always been lackluster. It would, naturally, be Dorcas who was Head Girl.

Not that Andromeda was envious of Dorcas's position – being Head Girl would mean patrol duty every night, and extra-special time with Filch rounding up miscreants.

It was just so – lonely, on these dark nights. Loneliness had a habit of bringing out the worst, must uncomfortable and unsettling thoughts; with nothing to blot them out or hide them away, they crowded to the forefront of Andromeda's mind.

_It's night in mountains Andromeda doesn't know, and below her lies a church, its steeple_

No! She was not going to think about that.

It kept popping up to the front of her mind, however, a shrill and nagging fear. Andromeda had as little idea how to save herself now as she'd had on that first, awful night when He'd marked her as His own. How could she possibly escape from that man, with His awful red eyes?

Suddenly, and with seemingly no provocation for an outside observer, Andromeda broke into tears. She felt her knees give way, and tumbled to the floor, leaning against the wall as if she thought she could find some solid foundation for her crumbling life in the ancient stones of Hogwarts.

Andromeda didn't know how long she lay weeping, but her tears were interrupted by rapid footfalls climbing up the library stairs. Through a haze of tears and darkness, Andromeda saw that it was Ted Tonks, his face radiating fear and concern.

"Annie, Annie, what's wrong?" he whispered desperately, pulling her to her feet and into his arms.

She only sobbed more loudly, collapsing against the solid comfort of his weight, and he stroked her hair as she cried desperately into his shoulder.

Slowly, slowly, she quieted, and the desperate, wracking sobs left her body. She felt drained and exhausted, the muscles in her stomach cramping; she did not know if she could walk.

"Andromeda, what on earth is the matter?" Ted asked, solicitous and frightened.

"I – oh, God, Ted, I'm so scared, I'm so scared!" She started to cry again, but this time they were gentle, hiccuping sobs, and they were quieted more easily.

"Let's go somewhere to talk," Ted said firmly, his arm supporting Andromeda as he began to lead them down a flight of stairs.

"B-but you're Head Boy," Andromeda said in protest. "You're on d-duty, and you c-can't just leave off everything to g-go with me."

"Annie, part of my duty as Head Boy is to 'aid the students for whom I have been instructed to care in their times of need.' You, my bold and beautiful Gryffindor girl, are about as needy right now as anybody I've ever seen. Come on, let's find somewhere where Filch and that damned – cat – won't get us."

Andromeda couldn't help but laugh, weakly, and Ted laughed with her, gently, and he guided her down the stairs.

"Into the basement," he said. "Not the dratted dungeons – too Slytherin – but there are some nice, cozy little rooms near the Hufflepuff Dormitories that will be just right, I think. They're Hufflepuff secrets, but if you promise you won't tell where they are, I figure I can trust you with the top-secret locations." He waggled his eyebrows at her, a signature Ted expression, and Andromeda couldn't help but laugh again.

"There you go, love. I'll get a House Elf to send up some tea for you, and you'll be right suited for a nice long _talk_."

This was a sobering thought, but Andromeda was calm, now; she had cried her heart out, and didn't have any tears left. That was good, she reflected, because she did not want to be interrupted by tears when she told Ted, as she knew she would.

Ted needn't have worried that Andromeda would reveal the super-secret locations of private Hufflepuff snog rooms (for, undoubtedly, that was their primary use); she was so tired and teary she knew she wouldn't remember how she'd gotten there by morning. The room Ted led her into was small, but in a cozy, well-lit sort of way. The floor was covered by a yellow-and-black rug in a vaguely persian design, with small paintings of woodland creatures on the walls; three overstuffed armchairs, a couch, and an enormous cross between a pouf and a bean-bag filled up the small space. The room was lit in a warm, yellow light from four torches and some sort of spelled lamp.

Ted sat her down carefully on one of the armchairs, and then dragged another so that he sat directly opposite from Andromeda. Taking her own small palm into his large, rough working-boy's hands, he said with quiet insistence, "Andromeda, what's wrong?"

"I don't know where to begin," Andromeda said dazedly. "It was – the first day back home this summer."

"Is that why you never wrote?" Tonks said suspiciously.

"In part. I was – for a while, a few weeks, I was very close to my older sister Bellatrix, and she wouldn't have liked me writing. I'm sorry, it wasn't fair of me at all."

Ted looked hurt for a moment, and then said, as if struggling, "I don't blame you. No – I don't, I swear. My mother is Polish – yeah, I know, weird comparison, but I know about families. They were so angry when she married an Englishman. I know about families."

"Do you?" The question was more arrogant and angry than Andromeda had anticipated, and she shook her head softly after a tense moment. "I'm sorry, Ted, that wasn't fair of me either. It's just – it's all about blood, you know? Everything that's wrong and bad and ugly in my world – our world – it all comes back down to blood. Blood that binds. I don't know about muggles, but in the wizarding world, blood is the most important thing there is, almost. Family, kith and kin – they're the strongest ties, the strongest magic in the world."

"You're putting me off," Ted said with a hint of disappointment.

"No – really, I'm not. I just – you have to understand, Ted, that's what this is all about. Blood."

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Andromeda began to explain. "I love my sisters, both of them, from the bottom of my heart. Odd as it may seem to you, they love me too; they don't understand me, they can't bridge the gap between us, but they recognize our common blood and they love me, because I'm their sister. Bellatrix would kill me, would kill me in an instant, but she would also die for me, if she could. Does that make any sense? No – it wouldn't, you see, because magic defies logic. There are plenty of brilliant wizards without an ounce of logic because they're so caught up in doing the impossible with their wand and their guts that they never stop to reason anything out."

"This summer, just as I came home, Bellatrix decided she was going to – well, I don't know what she was thinking. Probably, she wasn't thinking at all, being Bellatrix. She decided she was going to show me why she stopped torturing muggleborn first years last year. She'd moved on to bigger and better things, you see." Andromeda laughed, bitterly, and looked up at Ted. He was watching her raptly, his big brown eyes deep and concerned and compassionate.

"God, you're such a wonderful friend, Ted. I don't know where I'd be without you – as crazy as Bellatrix, probably. Well. Bellatrix. You know those riots up in Bath, and in Nottingham and everywhere else? Those were Bellatrix's fault, I'll bet my life on it, because she sure as hell started the one outside of Gringotts that night. You must have seen it in the paper."

"An auror dead, three wounded severely; one civilian died of his wounds in St. Mungo's three days later, and five more were hospitalized long term." Ted reeled off the injuries as if he were a mediwizard, his voice unreadable.

"Yes, yes. They didn't say, but one of those poor girls hospitalized – it was the Cruciatus Curse. I saw it. I saw my sister do it. I stopped her, and she nearly did it on me."

"Oh, my poor Andromeda," Ted said, grasping her hands and reaching up to stroke her hair. "You poor, beautiful dear – no wonder you were so traumatized. You've had to carry that around with you all summer?"

It was so absurd, that Ted should think this was all on her mind, all her grief, that Andromeda laughed. It was a high, cold, terrifying, frantic, hysterical sound, and she stopped almost immediately.

"Oh, Merlin. If only. I'm not telling this very well…. Well, Bellatrix takes me off to Diagon Alley, practically forces me – you know how Bella is, I doubt even McGonagall could stop her when she's really determined. She takes me to Diagon Alley. And then she gets up onto the steps of Gringott's, and starts – making a speech, I guess. All this nonsense about purifying the Wizarding race and how it's a Ministry for Mudbloods – pardon my French. And it really gets a riot going. It was some big idiot's fault, he started all the violence; I'd have sworn he was a plant if I didn't know any be – oh, God."

"What?" Ted asked, worried again.

"No – it's too horrible. Just – there was a man, with Bellatrix, and I just thought – well, what if the man who started it all was under _Imperius_? It's not like _he_ would have had a problem with it."

"You don't know, so don't worry about it," Ted said firmly. "He was probably just an idiot, so don't go worrying yourself on his behalf."

"It's not him I'm worried about! It's all the others, all the other people who were hurt, or will be hurt, because of him and Bellatrix and Avery."

"Avery? As in, Edmund Cassius Avery?" Ted asked in horrified disbelief.

"No, no – I'd have recognized him. Might have been his family, though. His father – Bella said that he was married…. Well. This riot started, and so Bellatrix left and hid out in Knockturn Alley with Avery, and I got dragged along. Then this poor muggleborn girl was running up, and Bellatrix just started torturing her – right there on the street – and I had to stop it, I couldn't let her, so I did the _finite incantatem_, only Bellatrix was so angry – I thought she might have used it on me, for a moment.

"Well. Then the riot died down, and Bellatrix and Avery went around collecting some of the rioters who'd been on our side – oh, God, not _our_ side, I mean the ones who'd agreed with Bellatrix and Avery. She found seven of them, seven stupid idiot rioters, and she dragged them all up to this shop. Bellatrix was going to take them all to a – well, she made it sound like a rally of some sort. So she's giving out apparition instructions, and then we're the last one in the shop and she takes out this port key and gives it to me – and I try to tell her no, I'm not like her, but she won't listen and God, Ted, I'm such a coward!"

Andromeda broke down again, though no tears came; but she wailed her heart out in self-loathing and fear and pain, and Ted took her into his arms and held her until she was still.

"Ted, don't interrupt me when I tell you this. I can't just stop and start, I'll never get through it all." Slowly, painstakingly, Andromeda told the Hufflepuff boy everything, every detail she could remember. When she was done, there was a long moment of immaculate silence.

Then she broke the silence. "Look, you can't even see it," Andromeda said in a near whisper, as she pulled up the sleeve of her robes. "He did it there, on the underside of the arm, right into the skin. I could feel Him burning it into me – but there's no sign. I feel it, though. A twinge, every now and then, like He's calling to me. Not me, but _them_. His servants. My sister."

"Ted, I'm going to die," Andromeda said slowly. "One way or another, I'm going to be dead by June. Either I'll kill myself, or He will, because I'm _never_ going to serve Him. I hate Him with every bone in my body, and I know I can't fight Him or defy Him, but I won't ever serve Him. I won't be like my sister. Bellatrix is so beautiful and powerful and proud, but she crawls to Him like all the rest, and He makes her think she likes it."

"The time has come," Ted said slowly, "to think logically. You said it yourself, a while back – wizards without an ounce of logic. As I see it, you're presented with this problem: he's done some sort of spell on you – like a summoning charm, almost, or – or maybe a Protean charm – so that next June, if he remembers –"

"He'll remember," Andromeda said dully.

"So that next June, you'll be forced to disapparate to him. Either you swear that you'll serve him, or he will try to kill you. Now, either we have to stop you from disapparating to him, you actually join him – I'm not recommending that, mind, just saying – or we have to stop him from killing you, somehow.

"I can't see how I could stop you from disapparating. I could ward you, sure, but this sounds like you'd be compelled to move outside of all wards, I read about it in a book on eighteenth-century Goblin wars a few months ago…. I could lock you in the tallest tower – but that mightn't work, either, you might do something stupid like jump out of a window out of desperation."

Ted chuckled, softly, though Andromeda saw no humor in that statement at all. Just the sort of thing He'd do, she thought bitterly.

"Or, we have to stop him from killing you. I wonder – do you think he always meets with his – what are they, Death Eaters? – in the same place? Because if he does, it wouldn't be so hard to spring an ambush on him."

"Are you mad?" Andromeda said, incredulous. "On some bloody mountain in Wales, right on the top where you could see anyone approaching for miles? You'd have to be an idiot, or else bloody Hercules on a Horntail."

"That's another thing – the Ysgyryd Fawr, you said? Well, that's right outside of Abergavenny, almost. I was in the area with my Grandmother once, and I'll bet I know just where it is, or at least the general area, anyway. It's wild country, and pretty uninhabited, but it's not like it's off the map. Really, it's a stupid thing of him to let you go when he knows you're not a Death Eater, knowing where he is and everything. Why, I bet with a – a pensieve, or something, a clever wizard could pinpoint the exact spot."

"Could we please not talk about pensieves? I don't care how stupid He is, He's trying to kill me and He'll damn well succeed, too."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Ted said with such determination Andromeda loved him utterly.

"What are you going to do, you great fool? Take on a dozen armed Dark Wizards by yourself, in the dark, on some lonely mountain in Wales?"

"We should go to Dumbledore," Ted said firmly.

"No!" Andromeda said, in a terror again.

"Why not?" Ted replied angrily. "We know he'd help you – or, at least, we don't know, but everyone knows he hates – well, you know who I mean. Everyone knows he fought against Grindelwald, and that Dumbledore's been fighting this new Dark Lord, too."

"Bellatrix will be there," Andromeda said desperately.

"Are you – are you seriously worried about her?" Ted said incredulously, jumping to his feet. "Your bloody sister led you like some sacrificial lamb to a – a deranged Cult Leader who goes around torturing muggleborns, she took you to him and he damned near almost killed you, and you give a damn about whether Dumbledore finds out she's an evil hag? Everybody knows what she's like, Annie! It's no secret that she's as black as they come – no pun intended. You really care?"

"I told you," Andromeda said, almost crying. "It all comes back to blood. It's not logical or sensible or any other good, down-to-earth Ted Tonks trait. It's because she's my sister and I love her, and she loves me. She would die to save me if she could, Ted. She nearly did. I won't let Dumbledore lock her up in Azkaban."

"Well, if you won't, I will," Ted said grimly. "I don't care, Annie! I'm not going to let him kill you! She's not worth it – I'd kill her myself if I could save you, I'd do it and damn myself to an eternity in Hell to keep you safe, and I'll be damned if I'll let you go off to Wales and just die next June. I refuse to lose you!"

He was on his feet – had been for a while, though Andromeda couldn't recall him standing up, and he moved with purpose toward the door, perhaps to run up to fetch Dumbledore in the middle of the night.

"Don't leave me!" Andromeda cried, a note of utter desperation in her voice, and Ted whirled around to meet her. In a moment, though Andromeda was again not sure how she'd gotten from the armchair to Ted, she was in his arms, and she was kissing him hungrily.

"I'm so scared, Ted, I don't want to die," she mumbled, but soon she was too busy to speak much. There was such a desperate need in her to live, to feel alive, to be as far as possible from the cold soil of the grave she anticipated.

Andromeda couldn't remember when she'd realized she was in love with Ted. It was a stupid thing to think about, she reflected, as she pressed him against her frame; but somehow she felt disconnected from it all. They'd always been best friends – had met on the school train, when Andromeda ran away from Bellatrix, and they'd liked each other tremendously. Andromeda had been heartbroken when she found out that Ted was a muggleborn, and more so when he became a Hufflepuff, but Ted had persisted in his friendly overtures, and by the end of their first year neither of them cared that Andromeda was a Black, and Ted's family were Polish immigrants and electricians.

As best Andromeda could remember, she'd first realized she loved Ted in her fifth year, when he was dating Marlene McKinnon; that hadn't lasted long, however – Marlene's social life in Slytherin had become a shambles, and the girl hadn't managed the stress of prefect's duties and O.W.L.s, and cries of "blood traitor" as well. Then, in their sixth year, Andromeda had dallied with Gideon Prewett – payback, of the pettiest sort, and that hadn't lasted, either, not after she caught Gideon making eyes at Rosalind Bungs.

No, Andromeda had loved Ted for a long time; and given Ted's current passion, she guessed he'd loved her rather as long.

It was funny – she'd never really anticipated anyone loving _her_, not when she was younger and just starting to think about boys. Bellatrix, after all, hung like a dark and impressive shadow before her, so dynamic and beautiful that she rendered young men speechless when she walked into a room. Narcissa, too, was lovely – younger, yes, but she was delicate and refined where Bellatrix was passionate and bold. Andromeda felt like the awkward cross between the two – brown as mud, in hair and eyes, and so ordinary in a House full of extraordinary wizards and witches she sometimes wondered whether she was even related.

Then, suddenly, Andromeda couldn't think very clearly any more, and gave herself over to simply holding Ted as tightly as she could, and being held.

--

When it was over, and they lay together in a tangled heap of limbs and robes, Andromeda could not sleep, though beside her Ted's chest was moving steadily with the deep breaths of slumber.

There were two things on her mind: first, that in the heat of their shared passion – or desperation – or folly – or youth – neither had remembered anything like a contraceptive charm. That was stupid of them, but Andromeda wasn't seriously worried. It just didn't seem very likely. She was only seventeen, after all, and still in school.

More worryingly, Andromeda couldn't help but worry what her mother would do if she found out. Ariadne was not so crude as to indulge in racial epithets regularly, but she always sneered a little when she spoke of half-bloods. Andromeda remembered her mother say, when she was fourteen, "You're a woman now, Andromeda, for better or for worse. There are two very stupid things you can do now: you can let young men seduce you, and you can let young men of the wrong sort seduce you."

Ted was so obviously of the wrong sort, from his muggle trainers to his calloused hands, that Andromeda couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of him in her mother's parlour. Or of her aunt chaperoning them! Cassiopeia Black, in the same room as an amorous young muggleborn man – it was too much.

The sensible, prefect part of Andromeda told her to get up, and to wake Ted, and to walk upstairs to Gryffindor Tower and pray Filch didn't catch her, but instead, she tucked her head against Ted's chest, and let herself drift away into sleep to the rhythm of his soft breathing.

* * *

Andromeda woke, suddenly, when Antonia Crawford began her usual morning ritual of calisthenics and yoga – always at 6:30 in the morning, and always accompanied by obnoxious groaning, moaning, and thumping. 

She was in her four-poster, the curtains drawn closed and the blankets up to her chin; when she moved to get up, she realized she was still in yesterday's robes. With a suddenness that made her head pound, she remembered exactly where she'd been the night before, and who with; and also realized she hadn't the faintest idea how she'd come to be in the Gryffindor Tower.

Not pausing to brush her hair or change her clothes, Andromeda leapt out of bed, over Antonia, and down the winding staircase into the common room. Bursting out of the portrait hole, Andromeda practically shouted at the Fat Lady, "Who – when – how did I get back last night?"

With a supercilious little sniff and a knowing glance, the Fat Lady replied, "Really, dear, you shouldn't go wandering around at night without a chaperone. In my day, no young lady worth her family name would _ever_ –"

"Oh, get to the point!" Andromeda snapped, feeling tired and cranky and worried.

"It was that young Tonks boy, dear, he was really quite a gentleman – he's the Head Boy, you know, so he had the password; he carried you in through the portrait hole, and I assume he must have taken you to your dormitories. I don't know how he got up the girls' stairs, but perhaps that's another Head Boy's privilege. It was very gentlemanly of him, I must say I quite approve. Though, in the future, dear, perhaps it would be best if you didn't stay out quite so –"

But Andromeda had already begun running, down the stairs and past the few early risers already heading to breakfast. They stared at her, at her knotted and frizzed than curled, at her crumpled black robes and at the prefects' badge dangling on a diagonal. She didn't care.

Against all odds, Ted was already at the Hufflepuff table, buttering a scone. For a moment, he neither saw nor heard Andromeda's approach, and Andromeda could not help but notice the dark circles under his eyes, and the distinct worry in every line of his face. Then –

"Ted, I – you didn't tell him while I was asleep?"

"Do you trust me so little?" he replied, looking hurt. "Andromeda, by Hell or high water I will get you into his office, but I won't go behind your back."

Sudden relief swept through Andromeda's body, and she flung herself at Ted, wrapping her arms around his neck. He was considerably taller than she, and her toes barely touched the ground as he swept her up into his embrace.

"Shh, Shh," he said to her as Andromeda began to cry again. "I want you to look at me. Straight in the eye."

She did, slowly.

"Now," he said with steady purpose, "I can't force you to do anything, I know you too well for that. But you should know me by now, too – I don't give up on the people I love. I'm not a Gryffindor, courage doesn't come naturally to me, but if I can't get you to save yourself, I'll fight the whole world for you."

Then Andromeda couldn't hold it back any longer, and she wept openly while he held her. She didn't care that the whole school – or, at least, all of the school up and alert for breakfast at 6:45 on Friday morning – was watching her. Or even that the headmaster, with a disconcertingly knowing look in his eye, was gazing straight at her and Ted.

She didn't care.

She only knew two things: she loved Ted, and she loved him so much that, somehow, she would find a way to live.


	6. Ties that Break

**Author's Notes: **This chapter was a lot of fun to write. I find that I very, very rarely like anyone's characterization of Lord Voldemort. People assume that because Voldemort's an evil sociopath he's necessarily a nutcase; I disagree. The man's brilliant and powerful - he's arrogant, sure, egotistical, overconfidant, but I hate it when people write him as unbalanced or openly crazy. This is the guy who held the wizarding world under his thumb in a reign of terror for ten years, who has come closer than anyone ever before to attaining immortality - and people write him as if any old wizard off the street could defeat him with the use of a little horse sense.

Voldemort is scary! Voldemort is evil! Voldemort is the most powerful wizard, following HP&HBP, still alive! I mean, gawd, guys, give him a little credit. He's not a looney-toon. He's a completely rational sociopath - just because he's mentally disturbed doesn't mean he's _unstable_.

Um, now that I'm done ranting. I hope you like my characterization of him 0

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Six: Ties That Break**

"Mother, stop fussing!" Bellatrix snapped, trying to swat away her mother's hands.

"You stand still," she retorted, and continued to pull and push at her daughter's robes. "I wish I'd had time to take you down to Twilfit's for a proper fitting, but I suppose you don't look too bad," she said discontentedly.

"They're _your_ old robes," Bellatrix said angrily. "I don't see why you're so worried. Rodolphus isn't proposing to _you_."

She'd been standing on a stool while her mother twitted about her for nearly an hour, and she was already peevish and cranky. They were beautiful robes; thick red satin that fell with a heavy elegance when she moved, and which followed every curve of her body. She positively glowed in them, her black hair crackling with electricity. She looked beautiful; she always did.

It wasn't even as if Rodolphus was proposing that night – as far as she knew, and she'd bullied it out of Rabastan, he was waiting until they were alone on Christmas morning. He certainly wouldn't do it in a crowd at the Black Christmas Eve party, with all her relatives there. Rodolphus was far more private than that.

"Has he met with Father yet? Rodolphus?"

"Yes, of course he has! As if your father would refuse permission. God knows, we're both delighted for you. Or for us, more's the truth. The sooner you're married, with a man to settle you," and she emphasized settle with another tug at Bellatrix's robes, "the happier I'll be. Now, put this on!"

Bellatrix bad-temperedly took the long gold chain her mother offered, and moved to put it around her neck.

"Not like that, stupid!" With a hiss of irritation, Ariadne snatched it out of her daughter's hand and began to weave the jewelry through her daughter's long black hair.

"You look like a queen," Ariadne said, grudgingly. "You're far prettier than me, or your Father. You must have your Uncle's blood in you; it's not from my side of the family."

This was true: Bellatrix was the prettiest of the Black sisters. Narcissa was lovely, too, but there was something off in her delicate features, a hint of smugness or self-satisfied contentment that ruined her beauty; and Andromeda, though also pretty, was of commoner stock, with her thick brown curls and broad face. Bellatrix was the one who looked royal.

"I'm sure this will do," Bellatrix said curtly. "Are you done with me yet?"

"Yes, I'm done, you can get down. Your Aunt will be fit to burst, she's always wanted a daughter and all she has are sons!" Ariadne Black's face was a picture of contentment at the last, and she regarded her daughter with rather more fondness.

"I do love you, Bellatrix," she said more softly as Bella moved to the door. "You look radiant tonight."

Two hours later, and Bellatrix felt as radiant as a horned toad. She stood toward the edge of a bustling mass of relatives all gathered in her Aunt's grand parlor, ruing the day that wizardkind had ever co-opted Christmas. It had to be her least favorite holiday. Actually, Bellatrix didn't much care for any holiday in particular – most were either filthy muggle traditions the Ministry had made into state-sponsored celebrations for the day off, or else excuses for her relatives to get roaringly drunk.

Actually, Uncle Alphard was almost always drunk, even on Christmas Eve, when he ought to have known better, what with Auntie Araminta nearby.

Although, as Bellatrix sourly reflected, having to live with Araminta Meliflua Black might drive anyone to drink. The old crone was nearly one hundred and forty, but she was as evil-tempered as she'd ever been, back in the good old days when she'd nearly persuaded the Ministry to make muggle-hunting legal. Good old Auntie Araminta.

Suddenly, her little cousin Sirius was tugging on her robes, as if he were two, and not twelve.

"Well? Aren't you supposed to be in bed?" she snapped at him, before taking a long drink of her firewhisky.

"Oh, you're no fun now you've decided to be all grown-up," Sirius said in obvious annoyance. "Just because you've left Hogwarts you've taken up all sorts of airs like you're an adult, and not only just a few years older than Narcissa, and _she_ said she'd play Transfiguration Charades with all of us."

"Oh, all right, then," Bellatrix said with a sigh. It was no use; even though she was eighteen, and knew for a fact that Rodolphus Lestrange was going to give her the heirloom sapphire ring tomorrow. Her mother still treated her like a peevish child, after all. Bellatrix might be peevish – but if Ariadne knew what it was her daughter did when she went off into the night…. Well, she didn't, and that was for the best, Bellatrix reminded herself sharply as she allowed Sirius to drag her off, out of the long parlor where her entire family had gathered.

Bellatrix had always liked visiting her Aunt and Uncle's home in London. The Lesser Blacks – as Orion always called his side of the family, much to Ariadne's displeasure – owned a comfortable and entirely respectable home, but it lacked the ancient grandeur of Aquila Black's manor home, for all that 12 Grimmauld Place was currently surrounded by the filthiest of muggle neighborhoods. The muggle city always changed, but Wizarding London endured in its midst, hidden and unseen and far more permanent.

Narcissa and Regulus – and, to Bellatrix's surprise, Andromeda – were all in the little bedroom on the third floor, which the Black children had always used as their own private playroom. It was like being very young again, Bellatrix reflected softly, as she sat down in her own spot, in the corner by the door.

"She came!" Sirius said delightedly. "You owe me a knut, Andromeda. I said she'd come, but you were so sure she was all grown up now."

"I'm going to regret this," Bellatrix said languorously. "I'm only doing it to humor you little children, you know."

"Little children?" Andromeda spluttered, laughing. "If I'm only eleven months younger, what does that make _you_, Bella?"

"Eleven months older," she said with a smirk. "So, what is it, Sirius? Transfiguration Charades _again_?"

"What, like you've got a better idea?" he said scornfully.

"We could play truth or dare," Regulus suggested quietly.

"That's a girl's game!" Sirius said, insufferably the older sibling.

"Is not!" Regulus piped up again. "I played it with Severus Snape at school before, and he's not a girl."

"Looks like it, with that hair of his," Narcissa said revoltedly. "Do you know, I hear he isn't even a pureblood! Things they let in Slytherin these days."

This piqued Bellatrix's interest. She'd always had a very healthy amount of loyalty to her house, after all. "Snape? That greasy little kid who had a way with a wand? He's the one who used _tarantallegra_ on you on the trainride up, isn't he?" she said to Sirius.

"And I got Snivellus right back with Densaugeo!" Sirius retorted, angrily.

"Why don't we just play Charades?" Andromeda interjected before it got too ugly. Sirius and Regulus had been bickering all day about house rivalries; Sirius was _another_ Gryffindor – there hadn't been two at a time since the 1830s – and he was horrible to Regulus since his brother had been sorted into Slytherin.

They passed a happy few minutes playing charades again. Bellatrix got 'Merlin', which she thought was absolutely unfair – all the rest had been given things like tea kettles – but there was a stuffed Gryffin's head over the mantelpiece, which she managed to give a very long white beard. After Regulus shouted out Dumbledore and Narcissa guessed Uncle Alphard, Sirius guessed Merlin's Beard, which Andromeda said was good enough.

Then Sirius and Narcissa got into an argument about whether it was sporting to try to jinx Regulus while he was transfiguring, and the whole thing descended into chaos.

"Oh, this is stupid," Bellatrix said after Sirius actually tried to hit Regulus with his wand. "I can't believe I'm playing with all of you children. I'm going to go find Rodolphus."

Rodolphus had been invited to the Black Family Christmas by Ariadne, after pleading with Aunt Cassiopeia, because, as Ariadne said, "He's going to be family by next June, so he ought to start meeting all your relatives, dear."

Bellatrix had been neglecting him dreadfully. Had her mother had her way, Bellatrix would have been attached to his arm, hanging on his every word, but that became boring after more than a few hours. Rodolphus, for all that he was a loyal servant to her Master, was nevertheless a wearisome conversationalist more interested in _hunting_ than anything Bellatrix cared to speak of. As if she gave a damn about how he'd bagged a Graphorn single-handedly in the Swiss Alps!

Not, she reflected, that playing silly games with her young cousins was any better.

She was just about to go down to the party – where Ariadne would undoubtedly tell her off for getting her new robes dirty, as if she were eight, and not eighteen – when Andromeda caught her arm.

"I just want to say thank you for coming up to play, even if it was only for a little while," she said rather breathlessly. "Sirius and Regulus have been just beastly to each other, and I really thought they might be decent if we pretended it was just like old times. I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

"You didn't drag me into this," Bellatrix said indignantly. "Anyway, Sirius was the one who came pleading, not you."

"After I bet him a knut you wouldn't come?" she said with eyebrows raised. "You know he can't resist a challenge. Anyway, I just wanted to say – sorry."

Bellatrix was very tempted to be angry and to storm away in a huff, but she was older, and more mature, and she let it pass. "Don't worry. It was more entertaining than listening to Great Auntie Elladora tell us about her trip to Dover _again_. I don't really want to go down to Rodolphus, anyway." She sighed heavily, leaning against the wall, and suddenly she sat down on the stair.

"Andromeda, it's so strange right now," Bellatrix said. "I feel – I'm eighteen. I'm more than of age, and I'm to be married before my next birthday. I'm supposed to be an adult, and yet sometimes I feel like a perfect child. Mother still treats me like one, and Father – he hasn't spoken to me since this summer when he had to drag me out of the Ministry prisons. And that's another thing!"

"Shh," Andromeda said. "You're shouting, someone will hear. Come on, let's go upstairs."

They went up into the very top, in the attic, which hadn't been cleaned in years, and sat on the rickety bed together, just as they had when they were three years younger, and had been gossiping about boys.

"Oh, it's all so confused," Bellatrix said, shaking her head angrily. "I feel like – like I'm running through life. No, that's not right – like life is running through me!"

"Yes, I know," Andromeda said, her voice strange and very old. Bellatrix looked up, and saw that Andromeda had a hand on her stomach, and was staring into space.

"It's – it's like there's a war on," Andromeda said with a shudder. "There is a war on! A decade ago, we might have been allowed a few years, but now – with politics and everything… well, mother wants you married as soon as possible, and father spends all his time in the Ministry trying to pretend he can keep our family neutral forever. I don't know, Bella. I don't know what to do." The last was said so quietly Bellatrix almost couldn't hear it.

"Andromeda, have you – no, of course you have, I mean – Andromeda, have you thought about this summer at all?"

"Yes."

"You have to make a decision. Now. I know we both still feel like children sometimes, but we aren't – we both know that, however much we might like to pretend otherwise. We have to choose sides. You've already said it, our world is going to erupt into war, maybe next year, maybe the year after. This can't be avoided. Father knows it; that's why he's been so pale and tense."

"_No_. I won't, Bellatrix, I know what you'll ask of me and I say _no_."

"You idiot!" Bellatrix exclaimed, leaping to her feet. "Do you really think he'll let you live if you refuse him? You've got to go and be a bloody _noble_ Gryffindor, and you're going to die for it. Andromeda, listen to me –"

"You don't understand and you never have," Andromeda was saying, her fists clenched. "You think that just because we're sisters you know who I am, what I am, but you've never understood that I'm _not like you_, Bellatrix. I don't look at a man and want to cause him pain because of _what_ he is – not even _who_, but what – I've never been like that. There are some things I cannot do, and I cannot side with a man who –" But she cut herself off, terror in her eyes, and they both knew why.

"You don't understand, either, Andromeda," Bellatrix said, keeping a tight rein on her anger. She wanted to scream and rage, but that would do more harm than good, she knew. It was imperative that Andromeda be made to understand. "You think it's a matter of choosing sides, like picking white or black on a chessboard? It's about – about giving yourself up for something greater than yourself, doing something so magnificent, for a cause so fantastic, that even your own life seems insignificant. This isn't some petty power struggle, this is a revolution about to happen, and it will crush you, Andromeda, if you don't submit to the inevitable. You have to humble yourself – I know that's hard for you and your stiff-necked Gryffindor pride, but there's courage to be found, Merlin knows! There's courage and honor and chivalry, too. There's the glory of ancient tradition and the new birth of the old ways to fight for, and if that isn't worth fighting for, I don't know what is!"

"What about peace," Andromeda said, her voice very low. "What about justice? About liberty and equality? What about trying to create, instead of destroying everything in your way? What about building, rather than tearing everything down first? I'll fight for _that_, Bellatrix."

"You don't understand," Bellatrix said, looking into her sister's eyes.

Andromeda nodded. "Neither do you."

"I know – I know we've never been close," Bellatrix said awkwardly. "Especially the past few years, since you were made a prefect. But, for God's sake, we're sisters. I love you, Andromeda. I can't bear to see you die because you're too stubborn to save yourself!"

To Bellatrix's very great shock, Andromeda began to cry. Andromeda _never_ cried, as a rule. Growing up, Bellatrix had had her black rages, and Narcissa had dissolved into tears, but Andromeda had simply tolerated her tempestuous sisters, and shelved away unhappiness as impractical. And now, she was sobbing into Bellatrix's shoulder.

It was so impossible. She couldn't give her own blood up as a lost cause, but she could find no way of making Andromeda see. She'd always been so stubborn and contrary, never content to follow Bellatrix's lead without grumbling or sniping or second-guessing, and now she was going to through her own life away and be glad of it out of sheer mule-headedness.

"Bellatrix, come away with me," Andromeda breathed after a few minutes.

"What?"

"If I can't join your side, you could join mine," she said in a rush. "If you did, Mother and Father would follow, and Narcissa. It doesn't have to be this way! You could side with the Light, and –"

"I cannot leave my Master," Bellatrix said, her hooded eyes gleaming darkly with anger.

"You can!" Andromeda exclaimed. "I know there's good in you, Bellatrix. You saved my life – you almost died for me. Why can't you come away with me and leave Him? Come to Dumbledore! If you went to him willingly he'd protect you, and we could fight. If we stand together, Bellatrix, we could overcome –"

Bellatrix had stepped away, and suddenly she was imperious again, her bearing regal and terrifying. "How _dare_ you! I, become a bloodtraitor? I, leave my Master to whom I pledged eternal service, eternal devotion? I would rather die like a dog, be cut down in the street and made to live as a slave, than to abandon my Lord! Do not ask this of me, Andromeda, or I shall forget that we are sisters."

"Then it is decided," Andromeda said, defeat in every line of her body. "You shall go one way, and I shall go another."

"No," Bellatrix said, "I shall go to my Master, and you shall die for your defiance."

They were at an impasse. Slowly, Bellatrix began to move toward the door.

"Bellatrix!" Andromeda cried out, in shock and pain, and Bellatrix knew why. Her own mark had seared painfully, and she knew she had to leave, now, immediately –

"You're going to Him?" she said in horror.

"So you can feel it, too," Bellatrix said, more to herself than to Andromeda. "I had wondered whether you might. Make my excuses to Mother."

Without another word, she fled, rushing down the stairs. As she passed the third floor landing, she saw Sirius looking worried and suspicious, but she did not stop when he called after her. Her long red dress robes whipping behind her, she silently summoned her cloak and mask as she ran toward the door. She slipped out of her Uncle's home silently, and stood in the night.

Slowly, she fitted her mask over her face, and slipped on her cloak. Then, baring her arm so that the burning pain might guide her, she disapparated, slipping away into the night.

She was in a place she did not know.

She had expected Ysgyryd Fawr, where her Master normally held court at the great summonses and revels, or else in the Harz mountains, where he had his oldest ties, and where he still marked his Death Eaters.

Instead, she was standing in a graveyard – a muggle graveyard – and below there was only a tiny village. There was a manor house, too, she saw with some surprise; it looked as if it might belong to a wizard, but she knew of no family to lived near a village such as this.

"Master?" she called out into the darkness, with her wand held out in front of her. She did not make a light.

"Come, Bellatrix," He said, and she saw Him suddenly, standing on the crest of a hill by the manor house, overlooking the cemetery.

Moving silently, she picked her way through the head stones to where her Lord stood. His eyes, an eerie shade of red with small, black pupils, were fixed on a far distant point to the West of the village.

"I am afraid I have not brought you here with some great purpose," he said softly. "I merely need to ascertain a few things."

"What do you want from me, Master?" Her heart was pounding with fear and delight, as it always did in His presence. She could not still the rapid rush of blood to her head.

"You are to be married to the Lestrange heir," he said, walking with slow deliberation toward the manor house.

"Yes," she said, falling a step behind him. "This June. Does this displease you, my Lord?"

"No, Bellatrix. He is a faithful servant, and his brother, too, shall come into the fold. Tell me, Bellatrix, do you wish to marry him?"

"I – I am not displeased, and I shall not refuse –" She broke off, unsure. She had not anticipated this.

"Do you love him?"

"No, my Lord." This she knew. "Perhaps I will come to love him."

Her Master chuckled, a high, cold laughter. "Do not lie to yourself, Bella, it is too transparent. I am touched, I am touched."

She colored under her mask. Her Master always knew the truth. "I am sorry if my thoughts are too bold, my Lord. I simply do not know how I could love a mere man when there is – you."

"Very good, very good!" he said, clapping his hands together. "That is as it should be. But I am pleased with the match. You should have children, they will be fine servants."

Bellatrix hesitated, and was sure that he sensed it. Desperately, she said, "Of course, my Lord."

"No? You _are_ an amazon! Well, perhaps not yet, perhaps not yet. He will want an heir, however, and you do owe him that. But we speak of trifles."

They had come directly to the manor. It was three stories high, a squat brick residence that was grand in its own way but was clearly muggle-made, Bellatrix saw. An old family, perhaps, but not wizarding. It lacked the tingling sense of ancient magic.

"My Lord, if I might be so bold –"

"Why are we here, rather than in the usual places? No, I don't think I shall tell you now, Bella. Perhaps another time. No, I have a question for you, and this a more serious inquiry. Tell me of your sister."

"Narcissa or Andromeda, my Lord?" she said, stalling for time.

"Come, you know better than that!" he snapped, and his voice was like a whip, all amusement gone from it. "Well? Will she fall into line?"

Feeling as if her heart might be torn in two, Bellatrix said, "I – I do not know, my Lord. I – she has not come around yet, but I will try, Master!"

"Try!" he barked, and his anger was like unsheathed steel. "Do not test my patience, Bellatrix, I shall not be so fooled. Either she will come, or she will not. Tell me!"

"No! No, she will not come," Bellatrix said, and was disgusted to hear a sob in her voice.

"You are weak, Bella," he said, danger in the last syllable of her name. "You let your family have too great a hold on you. She will not come, she will not be loyal, and still you care for her life? _Crucio!_"

And suddenly she was in pain, in agony, every inch of her body burning in torment, but it was as nothing to the knowledge that she had displeased her master. She sobbed and sobbed as He held her under His curse, and could not stop when the pain lifted, and there was only silence but for her tears as she lay at his feet in the dust.

"Get up, Bella."

She stood.

"I shall not deny that I am angry. You have thrown away the life of a pureblooded witch. While she might be so defiant as to disobey her true summonses, still she could have learned obedience and been of use when I gained my victory. Instead, you forfeited her life by _foolishly_ presuming that she would be persuaded. It is wasteful, but she shall have to be killed this summer. I am tempted to simply kill her now, lest she try some betrayal, but that would alienate the rest of your family, and I need the House of Black." His words were curt and crisp, and his displeasure was palpable.

The warring urges to defend her sister and to please her Master were tearing at Bellatrix's heart again, and she did not know what to do, or say.

He knew. "Do not test me, Bellatrix! Either your sister shall join us in June – which you have assured me she will not do – or she shall be killed! I shall not let you hold allegiance to a bloodtraitor and an enemy for sake of mere family. I have killed my father, and I would do it again without hesitation, for blood is nothing without loyalty. There is but one question, Bella, whether your loyalty is greater for your family or for your oath to me, and there can be only one answer."

"I will kill my sister, my Lord," Bellatrix said, and suddenly her heart was still. "If she refuses to join you, I shall kill her."

Through the darkness she thought she saw His lips curl up into a smile. "Good."


End file.
